The Return

by Margaret Guthrie

It was Saturday, the second week in May, and the day that would decide whether Margie would be able to stay in New Hope and run the New Hope Printery successfully. Her stomach churned and her mouth felt like cotton. The Grand Opening had been advertised for two weeks in the Delora Times and flyers had been posted in all ten of New Hope’s businesses. Personal invitations had gone out to all of Sherrie’s customers and the Friends Church had been good enough to include a notice in their Sunday morning bulletin. Margie and Lydia had stayed up late several nights baking dozens of cookies. Coffee, tea and lemonade were ready. Expecting no one to make a special trip just to pick up a coupon or free pen, the refreshments were to last all day in the hope that as people were on other errands, they’d stop in. Persia was scheduled to sign her poetry book from 1:00 to 3:00 and surely her friends would come for that.

  They opened at 10:00 and it was nearly an hour before anyone stepped through the open door. The sun had made it warm and bright. The perfume of lilacs was heavy in the air. A small breeze passed through trees rustling their new green leaves every once in a while.

  It was Pearl. She had on blue slacks and a white tee-shirt and carried a cloth bag emblazoned with WOI-TV. From it she pulled out a piece of paper on which was drawn a crudely drawn map. “Our boys have worked out the treasure hunt,” she said proudly. “And guess who was their real mentor?” Her eyes were sparkling.

  Lydia shook her head. Margie said she’d have to tell them.

  “No other than our morbid Jake Jackson.”

  Lydia smiled over at Margie, who returned a grin.

  “Sooo,” said Margie, giving Pearl a quizzical look.

  Pearl shook her finger at the two of them. “And you know who put the bug in my ear, don’t you, to suggest the boys go to him for advice?”

  “Who?” Margie said.

  “Don’t be coy,” Pearl said. “You’ve been talking to those girls, haven’t you?” She fanned the piece of paper in front of her, in tantalizing fashion.

  The sisters looked at each other. “We had a nice conversation with Mike and Charlette the other day,” Margie acknowledged. “But the girls?” She shook her head.

  “Well, it was brilliant in any case,” Pearl said. “When the boys consulted with me they said Jake helped them pick out some really good spots. They were so excited, implying the other children were going to go crazy trying to find those clues.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” Margie asked.

  “It gets Jake involved in a creative way. It gets him away from obsessing about the gym. It makes him feel important. And so that’s all a good thing.” Pearl gave them a patient teacherly smile.

  “So you know where they’ll be hidden?” Margie queried.

  “Of course. I do have the responsibility of supervising, you know.” Pearl set her bag on a chair and held the map out for the girls to look at, then snatched it away and slipped it into the bag. “You offering coffee?” Pearl moved over to the pot and cups.

  “Oh, please, yes,” said Margie, leaving Lydia staring at Pearl’s bag as if trying to figure out how to retrieve the map. “I hope the coffee’s not too stiff, from sitting so long. I guess I should have waited awhile.”

  “It’s fine,” declared Pearl, sipping it from the paper cup.

  Just then a customer came in dressed in greasy overalls, sweaty cap and dirty hands. He needed to copy a few pages he said and Margie helped him put them into the copier the right way. He paid his few cents, exchanged pleasantries with Pearl, grabbed a cookie, then left.

  “That was Leo,” Pearl explained. “He works in the garage down the street with Persia’s husband.”

  Next came Superintendent Stevenson and his wife Bertha. Pearl greeted them enthusiastically and launched into the children’s treasure hunt that she hoped would not disturb them when the children got close to their house there by the pine grove.

  “Oh, we’ve had children there before,” Bertha laughed. “But Jake’s already warned us.” She seemed to Lydia like a person comfortable with children even though they had never had any themselves, she had heard. And then Pearl asked an interesting question.

  “How’s the progress regarding a tenant? I heard the box making people decided against using the school.” Pearl followed them to the refreshment table.

  “Yes,” he said. “Just as well, don’t you think?” He gave her a quick smile as he picked up a cup and allowed Lydia to fill it. When she handed it to him, she felt his larger presence. Not that he was really tall, but a head taller at least. But it was more than that. A commanding presence. Even thirty years ago he probably had it. And even though he had been younger than her mother, had she felt it?

  Pearl nodded. Mr. Stephenson continued. “I believe there is another company interested. One that has something to do with a small component in a filter system. I understand they propose using the barn for production and a couple of the classrooms for their business offices, where they’d have their phones, fax machines, computers, files, that kind of thing. More compatible in my mind that making boxes.” He thanked Lydia for the coffee and picked up a cookie. Margie had already helped Bertha.

  “I agree,” Lydia said, noting surprise in Mr. Stephenson’s face. She was thinking about the other rooms, so asked if they would still be empty. He nodded. “Well then, someone could use them for retreats or special youth camps, or elderhostels, or special needs kids camps, or some such.” The thoughts felt good.

  “Well, yes. But there’s still that guy wants to store some antique items and maybe start a museum.” Mr. Stephenson looked at Pearl as if she were the one with the suggestions. But there was no time to feel offended.

  “Museum is a good idea,” Margie said, thinking how it would fit in with getting the house in condition for a museum.

  Just then Hazel and Charles Lambert came in, exchanged greetings and joined in the discussion of a museum. Suddenly the little office space was full and Margie and Lydia listened to the pros and cons of different plans.

  When the phone rang Margie went to answer. It was Peter, saying he was running late, but still intended to get there. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Not too bad,” Margie answered, “as you can hear from the noise, I suspect.”

  “Well, save me a cookie, OK?” He sounded cheerful and Margie’s heart raced, and the thought of what people were going to think when he showed up flitted through her mind.