Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “I was about to make an announcement and I didn’t want you to miss it,” Katie said with enthusiasm, “since after all, you are partly responsible for my decision. I’m so glad to have caught you here since you’ll now be among the first to know. I’m opening a new business in town! Mayor McKern, I want to thank you for proposing such a wonderful idea a couple of Happy Hookers’ meetings ago.” Never mind that Gladys had all but sounded off against it when the ladies had bemoaned their lack of a good browsing shop. One thing was certain, Dorothy had told Katie, Gladys would remember it as her idea if everybody else loved it and gave her credit for it. “My whole undertaking was actually inspired not only by your idea for such a business, but by your dedication to keeping Partonville on the map with our Centennial Plus Thirty.” It was clear from the look on Gladys’s face that Dorothy’s suggestion to butter up Gladys was just the right ticket. Katie unveiled her visions for the mini mall and how important Gladys’s input would be since she was, after all, the mayor. Within a few more sentences, both Gladys and Maggie were beside themselves with enthusiasm (each spouting their own ideas for shops ranging from Partonville giftware to lingerie), especially after Katie told Maggie she would rely on doses of her input and sense of flair, and how could anything like this be successful in Partonville without the mayor’s endorsement! Katie had them wrapped around not only her little finger, but dedicated to her unspoken purpose to prove Colton Craig wrong about their town.

  By the time their chatter reached a fevered peak, they had carried on for so long without any beautifying going on that Katie’s hair had nearly air-dried. Maggie checked her watch and rinsed the color off Gladys’s hair so as not to fry it; it had been one of the fastest forty-five minutes she’d ever experienced. Gladys plopped back down in the color chair since Katie was in the styling chair. Maggie asked Katie if she minded waiting while she finished up with Gladys, who already had visions of a mini-mall ribbon-cutting ceremony dancing in her head. Within fairly short order, Gladys was out the door, all but chirping a good-bye to Katie, encouraging her to keep in close contact with her about the mini mall’s progress. When the door closed, both Maggie and Katie let out a sigh.

  Maggie spritzed Katie’s hair before combing it this way and that, taking note of how Katie’s cowlicks (two of them!) handled, how her forehead looked with her hair on and off her face, how much natural wave she had, which was plenty. Katie was so caught up in the fabulous way things were shaping up that she forgot herself during the briefest of moments when, in the middle of a sentence about the new business venture, Maggie asked her if she minded if she gave her a little trim. Before Katie, who was turned away from the mirror, knew what had hit her, Maggie was snapping the scissors next to her right ear.

  Following her latest bout of upchucking, Jessica had assumed her familiar position, buttocks on the bathroom floor, back against the wall. JESSICA’S JOYS. She said the words aloud, designing stickers in her mind with happy stars on them while her stomach settled. “Paul! Come here! Quick!”

  Paul rounded the corner on the fly, her call having scared him. “WHAT IS IT!?”

  “You’ll never guess what!” She was breathless. “Katie’s going to open a mini mall on the square and one of the stores is going to be a boutique! She wants me—me, Paul—to help her decorate and to give her my handmade items on consignment! Wouldn’t it be just wonderful if I could launch a line of handcrafts called Jessica’s Joys? Oh, Paul! Think of the extra income!” And then she stuck her head back in the toilet bowl.

  Dorothy stood by the church door waiting for May Belle and Earl to show up, but when the church bells began to ring and she didn’t see them coming down the sidewalk, she knew May Belle was still down, at least down enough to be unable to handle a hard church pew. Dorothy prayed while she found a seat. Lord, please comfort and heal my friend. Calm Earl’s heart and help him to find ways to help his mother. Give May Belle the good sense to rest as long as she needs to. And help us figure out what to do about our dinner. Fill in the gaps. You already know I’ve taken two nitroglycerin tablets this week and if I get myself down, we’ll really be in trouble. DON’T LET ME BE DUMB! By the time the church bells were done ringing, Dorothy, who gave a happy smile to Paul, Jessica and Sarah Sue in the back row, had seated herself next to Doc. Doc always radiated calm and that’s sure what she needed right now. His greeting smile and gentle hand pat were just the ticket.

  During announcements, Pastor asked if the Social Concerns Committee would like to give a report about the Thanksgiving dinner. Nobody moved. Dorothy expected Gladys would rise, but she did not. Gladys folded her hands across her chest. If UMC’s ship was sinking, she wasn’t going to be standing at the helm when it did.

  “Anybody?” Pastor asked. After their last bobbing exchange, it was hard to believe neither one of them had anything to say. Reluctantly, Dorothy finally stood, smiled and gave a brief report. “The joint committees of St. Augustine’s and we here at UMC would like to thank God and the citizens of Partonville for helping to fill up our Thanksgiving tables; it looks like we might have as many as fifty or more folks gathered together!” A few low whistles and a light band of clapping raced around the room. “You probably all know that reservations are officially closed, but don’t forget that if you decide at the last minute this is where you’d like to be, don’t hesitate to come. That’s what our Lord taught us. Come. Come as you are. And if any of you feel nudged to lend a hand with cooking or serving, please see me after the service today or give Theresa Brewton a call. Her number’s in your bulletin again this week. I’m sure we’re going to have a blessed time.” Lord, hear my prayer!

  Dorothy slipped out of the service early to put on the coffee for the Meet and Greet, a task May Belle would usually have handled. She also knew she’d have to listen to everyone whine that there were no sweets. If The Tank had been parked outside, she could have just made a run to buy some doughnuts. It was terrible to not have that type of mobility. Terrible, she thought. Even though she’d often promised herself she wouldn’t complain about giving up driving, she’d still find herself grumbling. Oh well, coffee would just have to do.

  What she hadn’t banked on, however, was that when the Meet and Greet folks gathered, they were so busy buzzing about the new mini mall that city slicker was bringing to town (proving the grapevine was alive and well), they barely noticed there was neither a cookie nor a piece of coffee cake to be had.

  26

  By Sunday, the beginnings of conversation had sprouted between the Landers men and women. Perfunctory things, to be sure, but nonetheless words. Herm and Vera, who never missed church at home, prowled through the Yellow Pages. They’d decided since the ice had at least been broken between Arthur and Jessie, they’d go ahead and attend a Baptist church just at the edge of Hethrow. (According to Herm, if it wasn’t a good ol’ alter-callin’ Baptist church, it didn’t count, and Vera believed she needed to get herself right up there and repent of her unfounded gossip!) They’d have to trust that God would keep Arthur and Jessie from pummeling each other while they were gone, and in fact determined to pray so during their drive. Of course, they’d each been praying plenty for them already. Arthur and Jessie didn’t attend church and they weren’t about to start now, no matter how much encouragement Herm and Vera gave. “I mean, come on, Herman the Vermin! What kind of God would let the Buick Wildcat go out of production!” Arthur thought he’d cracked quite the joke, but there were times he really did wonder. Although Herm tried to keep a lightness in his voice when he responded, he actually meant what he said. “Better watch yourself talkin’ ’bout God like that, Art. He can smite the likes of us rascals as quick as He can take out the Wildcat!”

  When Herm and Vera drove away, hoping to make the ten-thirty service, Jessie stood in the driveway waving good-bye. She was relieved to have her house back to herself for a couple of hours, but on edge about her and Arthur being alone for the first time since the incident at Harry’s. She needn’t have worried, since bef
ore Herm and Vera had seated themselves in the car, Arthur had mumbled something about taking a walk down to the creek. When she went back in the house he was gone. She figured a creek walk was his way of further avoidance.

  But this standoff just could not go on much longer; it was not only wearing thin, it was wearing her out. How would, how could it end? Jessie wondered. Neither one of them had figured a way to address it yet, the air still thick with the possibility for an explosion. But with Thanksgiving only four days away, Jessie reckoned maybe it was time she broke the ice, let Arthur know his accusations were a bunch of hooey. She considered the options. Do and say nothing or do what she’d always done: step up to the plate and take her swings. Since when had she ever stepped out of the batter’s box and declined to get back in? She donned a jacket, her Wild Musketeers baseball cap and headed toward the creek.

  Batter up!

  Dorothy marched straight to May Belle’s after church. May Belle said she thought she maybe felt the slightest bit better, but she was still in bed. Dorothy made them all a sandwich, then announced to May Belle that Doc would be by in short order since she’d told him at church May Belle needed a drop-in, and pronto. May Belle started to protest but truth be told, she had no choice and Dorothy had made that clear. When they were finishing their lunch, Doc arrived. He checked May Belle best he could under the awkward circumstances and without x-rays, then prescribed a muscle relaxant. “Let’s see if this does the trick. I wish you could get this filled today, but as you very well know, Richardson’s Rexall Drugs isn’t open on Sundays. Earl,” Doc said, handing the prescription over to him, “you go to the drugstore first thing in the morning and get this filled for your mother, okay?” Earl stared at it, then nodded his head. Although the pharmacy in Wal-Mart at the edge of town was open on Sundays, they didn’t know Earl there, but more important, he didn’t know them.

  As soon as Doc was gone, Dorothy phoned Josh. “I need you to do me a favor, okay?” Within thirty minutes he’d picked up her and Earl and off they’d gone to Wal-Mart. By 2 P.M., May Belle had swallowed her first dose. As much as Dorothy wanted to support her local drugstore and her old music student who ran it, there was no sense in May Belle having to spend one more hour in pain than she needed to now that she’d finally moved past the Vicks VapoRub.

  Early Monday evening Nellie Ruth and Edward Showalter pushed a piled-high shopping cart each through Your Store. She was reading off the master list, double-checking to make sure they had everything. She was going to check out the groceries herself and she and Edward Showalter would try to bag and organize them according to their delivery route. All told, including her own home, they had eleven stops, which wasn’t as bad as she might have thought. They began their route at 7 P.M.

  Gladys had warned them they better check May Belle’s status before dropping off her groceries. Edward Showalter waited in the van while Nellie Ruth went to the door. When Earl opened it, Nellie Ruth knew she had her answer.

  “IS THAT YOU, NELLIE RUTH?” May Belle hollered from her bedroom.

  “YES, MAY BELLE! IT’S ME AND EDWARD SHOWALTER!” Earl flinched and Nellie Ruth lowered her volume. May Belle’s house wasn’t that large. “Where would you like us to take your groceries?” she asked in a strong but non-yelling voice.

  “If you could just put them on the countertop, Earl can put them away. Hear me, Earl?” Earl didn’t verbally respond but he nodded his head, keeping his eye on Nellie Ruth.

  “Earl’s nodding, May Belle! Hold on, I’m going to flag Edward Showalter on in.” She leaned out the door and waved her arm to motion him in.

  “That’s good, Earl. Show Nellie Ruth and Edward Showalter to the kitchen.”

  “May Belle! Are you going to be okay to cook?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Doc gave me some pills. I’m feeling a little better. But if I can’t, Dorothy said she and her sons would use my kitchen as well as hers.”

  “GREAT!” This time Earl covered his ears. “Oh, I’m sorry again, Earl.” She lowered her voice. “Everything’s under control then!” Silence. “Well, as under control as it can be right now.” Edward Showalter was beside her, a bag in each hand. She gave him a shrug.

  “Mom,” Josh hollered up the stairs, “it’s Colton Craig on the phone!”

  “I’ll get it up here!”

  Josh had been thrilled to learn about his mother’s mini-mall plan. Several kids at school had even talked to him about it already, the Partonville grapevine having spread its tentacles all the way to Hethrow. Shelby thought it was the coolest thing ever and said her Grannie M was “nonstop excited.” He’d never been more proud of his mom. But to hear Colton Craig was on the phone made him nervous. He just didn’t trust that guy, and he hoped if his mom was talking to him that her intentions for the mini mall were nothing less than the way she’d presented them. She’d said she wanted to do this “to help breathe new life into Partonville.” He hoped it wasn’t simply her next scheme to breathe new life into her bank account.

  “I got it, Joshua,” Katie said into the receiver with her business voice. Reluctantly he hung up.

  “Colton. What may I do for you?”

  “I received a call from one of my Realtor scouts today informing me he’d heard you were bringing a mini mall, or some such thing, to the square in Partonville.” Katie did not respond. She hadn’t thought about the grapevine overreaching quite this quickly. She wouldn’t make this easy for him, though. But still, she wished she had a grand-opening date in place, the name of a famous tea-room chef (Was there such a person? She’d have to find out!) to roll off her tongue or something else equally impressive. After a few more moments of silence, he continued. “I told him he must be mistaken.”

  “I’ve heard Scouts never lie. Isn’t that why they say ‘Scout’s honor’?”

  “Is this your idea of a monetary opinion with value? To bring a new mini mall to a dilapidated building in a dying town?” Again, she did not respond. She would let him have to think about his next words, his next move—while she fought to dismiss what he’d said.

  In the silence his mind ripped through a dozen ways she might be playing this. Surely she wasn’t trying to drive up the price of Crooked Creek Farm or further set the stage for her preservation nonsense by first attempting to give a lift to a stale business district. Surely. Or maybe she just bought the rundown building to make him think that. What was Kathryn Durbin up to? What did she know that he didn’t? The only thing he knew for sure was that it would be financially lethal to underestimate her.

  “Can you hold on, please, I have another call coming in,” she said abruptly. Without waiting for a response she put him on hold and looked at her wristwatch. She counted the seconds until forty of them had passed, then she flipped back to him. “Colton, I hate to cut this short, but I have another call I have to take.”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “I’m sorry, but I really do have to go. I’ll get back to you hopefully before the holiday. I’ve got a pretty full plate right now. If I don’t talk to you before Thanksgiving, though, I hope you have a great weekend.”

  “Kathryn,” he said, his voice firm enough to command a few moments more of her time, “let me just say that Craig & Craig Developers is prepared to make you an offer for Crooked Creek Farm, one we feel is beyond generous and one we feel you’d have to think twice to refuse.” While he was talking he was already upping the offer in his mind. “We believe we can work together with you as one of our visionaries and we’re prepared to pay more than top dollar for not only the farm, but your partnered services.” He went on to state numbers so staggering that they made her legs go weak.

  She opened and closed her free fist and leaned her forehead against the wall, gently bumping it against the hard surface a couple of times. One of the most powerful Realtors in the state—one who had for decades been her rival—was offering her not only a lucrative partnership, but as much money as she’d ever closed in one deal. She straightened her spine and steadied her vo
ice. “I shall take that under advisement,” she said as flatly as she could considering her throat had gone dry, “but right now I have to go.” She thought she honestly might faint. She hung up the phone and ran her hand through her hair . . .

  Her HAIR! How could she keep forgetting! What on earth kind of a black hole had she stepped into this last week? She walked to her bedroom mirror and stared at herself. She had never looked so . . . different in her entire life. She stepped in closer to the mirror and studied herself. Her eyes, so like her father’s and brother’s; her chin, as stiff as her upper lip right now—her hair, as short as a schnauzer’s.

  “Who are you, woman in the mirror?” she asked aloud. It was as though she was looking at a stranger, both inside and out. “Are you Kathryn Durbin, butt-kicking commercial real estate developer who knows when she has the opportunity to make a financial killing, then take the money and run far away from this one-horse town? Or are you Katie Mable Carol Durbin, a Green Acres city slicker of a woman ignorantly investing in a dilapidated building on a dying square in a Podunk place called Pardon-Me-Ville?”

  Jessie walked along the creek with vigor, stopping every twenty feet or so to skip a rock, which didn’t really skip in the creek, but nonetheless felt like a good exercise to keep her pitching arm in shape during the long off-season—and help her fight her nerves. She’d kept her eyes peeled for Arthur but there was no sign of him. She gathered a small pile of twigs, sat down on a big rock and began tossing the twigs into the water, watching them rush away. “Where’s that old coot gone?” she wondered aloud. Arthur, who was sitting in the crook of a tree a ways back from the creek, and who had been watching her move toward him, settling not ten feet from him, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pleasure. That woman would never give up throwing things. Never. After she’d let her last twig fly, she stood and brushed off her pants, turned and for the first time saw him.