Just like that, the party was on and now the whole town knew about it. Why do I worry, Lord, when You’re always one step—make that fifty million—ahead of me!
15
Sunday morning’s church service was more crowded than usual. Pastor Delbert wasn’t surprised: Christmas was coming and attendance always went up a week or two beforehand. Folks who believed in God Almighty and His Son but didn’t believe in getting themselves to church every Sunday nonetheless managed to do so around Christmas and Easter. Over the years Pastor had also noticed that death brought questions of faith to the forefront. More than once he’d heard skeptics say, “There was something about that funeral service that got me to thinking.”
When Josh and Katie entered the sanctuary, Josh quickly spotted where Jacob and Dorothy were seated. Dorothy moved around every Sunday; she liked to make people feel welcome, and she’d never taken to the idea that some families thought they owned a pew. “It’s good to shake things up a little,” she always said. This Sunday she was sitting with Wanita (“That’s the way my mother spelled it on the birth certificate!”) and her three-year-old twins. Her husband didn’t attend church since what kind of God, he wondered, would allow them to encounter such hard times financially. Josh thought Dorothy’s seat selection was very brave since from what he’d seen of Danny and Dougie (what anyone had seen) they were likely to start socking each other and accidentally land one on Dorothy. Josh walked around to the other end of their pew, Katie behind him, slid in and plopped himself down next to Jacob who looked up and smiled at them.
“Got a car yet?” Jacob asked in a low voice as he leaned toward Josh.
“Nothing.”
“Hang in there, sport.”
Even though Katie was reading the announcements in the bulletin, she leaned forward enough to make eye contact with Jacob. “I heard that. Sunday morning doesn’t seem like a good time to be playing devil’s advocate now, does it?” Her voice sounded neither chastising nor playful. He just smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders, lifted his eyebrows, as though he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
“You leaving tomorrow?” Josh asked.
“I won’t know for sure until noon tomorrow.”
“Keep us posted. But if I don’t see you before you go,” he said, thrusting his hand forward, “I hope you come back soon. You still got my e-mail addy, right?”
“Yup. And my plans are to be back for Christmas.”
“If you e-mail me, I’ll keep you posted about the car.”
Katie sighed loud enough to cause Danny and Dougie to lean around Jacob to see what was going on. That kind of sigh was usually reserved for them.
Nellie Ruth, who sat in her same pew and position every Sunday, was a jumble of nerves, which wasn’t like her. No, it was not like her at all. Her heart had not stopped racing since the funeral dinner when Dorothy made the announcement about the Christmas party and ES leaned right over and whispered, “Can we make it a date?” Without thinking, she had agreed. But in hindsight, she could hardly believe he’d asked her to attend something with him a whole two weeks in advance, which, after about five weeks of dating, certainly must speak as a sign to his growing affection for her. Plus, he’d told her after the funeral dinner that he couldn’t think of anyone he was happier to tell about his long-term job on the mini mall than her. “I’m going to be the contractor, Nellie Ruth, on the whole mini-mall project! I have a retainer!” he’d said. “A steady income for months to come! Ms. Durbin even talked to me about maybe serving as the official maintenance man in the building after it opens! I’ll be darned if that fortune cookie wasn’t right! That cookie was like a direct Word from the Lord!”
Yes, all his news had been wonderful, especially when he shared that he’d told Ms. Durbin of his one prior commitment, and “that is to paint Nellie Ruth’s place. Ms. Durbin said after Monday’s meeting we’d have to wait a spell for final drawings anyway, so I should just go ahead and get that Splendid Pink on your walls.”
Nellie Ruth still had mixed feelings, however, as this long-range date plan for the Hookers’ Christmas party felt like a commitment of sorts, which unnerved her. Yes, she enjoyed his company. Yes, he was a man of faith, which was important to her. Yes, he was a hard worker, and obviously a trustworthy one if Katie had entrusted him with such a huge undertaking. And he certainly was good to her. But since her father had been so horribly abusive to her when she was growing up, a portion of her couldn’t help shying away from the trust of commitment. In all her sixty-some years, she hadn’t really dated anyone more than once or twice (and to call those encounters “dates” was a real stretch of the word), so after five weeks of seeing Edward Showalter on a pretty regular basis, she found herself swimming in new, unsettling waters.
It’s not that she’d even had much of an opportunity to steadily date before, pickings for single men in Partonville—out of which she hardly ever ventured—running slightly slim. She had not, in fact, ever even been properly kissed, which seemed pretty embarrassing for a woman in her sixties. But seeing ES on a regular basis, and now this two-week-ahead date, was making her jittery. Why was she suddenly starting to feel like fleeing from him when they had such a good time together, when it seemed the exciting tingle that had run up her arm the other night when he’d laid his hand atop hers would never leave? She’d thought for a second that he was going to try to kiss her when he’d last walked her to the bottom of the outdoor stairway leading up to her apartment. He said good night to her and told her what a great time he’d had. He looked at his shoes, he looked at the sky, he stared into her eyes—then he paused, leaned toward her just a hair. The moment was so startling she thought her heart was going to explode, which unconsciously caused her to stiffen. Suddenly, he backed up that same hair he’d just leaned in, said good night and then he was gone. Between replaying the wonderful tingles, the panic at the thought he might soon try to kiss her again and the long-range date, her heart-hammering simply would not cease.
Although Edward Showalter attended church every Sunday and often went to Wednesday evening prayer meetings, he didn’t attend UMC. He worshipped with Johnny Mathis and his family (wife and two grown daughters, one now married and a mother herself, the other still living at home) at a Baptist church in Yorkville. Even in her confusion, Nellie Ruth realized she wished he was sitting there beside her. But she was content to know they were both worshipping the same God at the same hour, which made her feel close to him even in his absence. With each hymn she wondered if he might be singing the very same song, maybe at this very same moment—which caused her a slight pang of guilt since she’d been thinking about ES instead of the words. She’d have a chance to ask him about the hymn selections when he came for a visit at three this afternoon, a thought that jolted her heart back into overdrive.
When they’d first begun seeing each other—if she dared to think of it in those terms—she didn’t think it would be right for him to come up to her place until he officially came to paint it her choice of Splendid Rose, what with them both being single and her landlord always seemingly spying on their comings and goings. Last night ES said on the phone, “Nellie Ruth, we are both over sixty years old. If I can’t come for a mid-afternoon visit—if we can’t be trusted alone together now—when can we?” It was the first time he’d pressed an issue. She’d told him she’d pray about it and let him know what God said—and everyone who knew Nellie Ruth McGregor knew she was a prayer warrior. Turns out God seemed to have said YES, or at the very least He hadn’t said NO! So she called ES back and told him 3 P.M. would be fine. She’d make them a cup of tea, perhaps even a mid-afternoon snack.
Although her upstairs apartment was as neat as a pin, after she hung up she spent the rest of the evening cleaning, polishing, double checking, putting out a few tasteful Christmas decorations here and there. No tree yet, but her handmade papier-mâche angel (she’d followed the directions explicitly and it looked exactly like the picture) was on the bookcase and her
Christmas globe with ice skaters in it was in the center of her kitchen table. But what if he didn’t like her taste? What if he’d pictured something more . . . whatever? What would her apartment tell him about her? She walked from room to room trying to become a stranger in her own home, to see everything through fresh eyes. Hmm. She must like pastels. Hmm. Is this a music room? Hmm. She must not be very fun. Gads! Her place was b-o-r-i-n-g through the eyes of a stranger, at least as “stranger” as her own eyes in her own place could get. She was now more glad than ever she’d risked picking out such a bold paint color and wished he’d already painted it before this first visit, which made her laugh at herself.
She’d once heard someone’s home referred to as always being so neat that it looked as though no one lived there. Recalling this, she sat down in front of her tidy, short stack of crafters magazines and decided to splay them, then realized she’d busied herself arranging a perfect fan. No! She tried to make them look like she’d just tossed them down on her coffee table. Better. But she couldn’t stand it and soon evened up the corners again. I am who I am. He will either like my home the way it really is, or he won’t. She recalled the state of Edward Showalter’s van on their first date, empty pop cans and snack wrappers everywhere. Since then, he’d cleaned it up, but she wondered if he’d done so because of the look on her face. She hoped not. She hoped he could just be who he really was in her presence.
She sat in the church pew scolding herself for her own ridiculous actions and her continually racing heart. Lord, don’t let me be afraid to receive the kind but appropriate affection of a man who loves You as much as I do and who is so very good to me, and whom I’ve grown to care a great deal about. Help me to be nothing more or less than the Nellie Ruth McGregor You created me to be, and give me eyes to see the real Edward Showalter. He is not my father, he is Edward Showalter.
Edward Showalter sat at the Mathises’ kitchen table. They’d invited him back to their house for a bite of lunch or brunch—or whatever he wanted to call it, Mary said (Johnny said he’d call it sandwiches)—after the service. The pastor’s sermon hadn’t been one of his best, they’d decided, but nonetheless, he’d certainly given them food for thought and conversation.
Edward Showalter always loved the comfort of their kitchen table. They were, in his mind, the perfect example of a family, something he sorely missed. Mary and Johnny always made him feel embraced by their circle of love, and made him feel like a part of their family. In fact, were he ever to bring Nellie Ruth “home to meet the family,” this was as close as he could get. Not that Johnny and Mary were perfect. They had rocky times in their marriage, terrible times, in fact. Edward Showalter had also been a part of those in a way, since he and Johnny used to be drinking buddies. “Drunks is the only way to put it,” they’d admit to anyone who asked. Mary had once left Johnny, told him this time she wouldn’t come back until he’d stopped drinking for good. With the help of AA and each other, both men finally left the booze behind, and months later Johnny and his wife were back together, had been ever since. Johnny and Edward Showalter still attended AA meetings together. They approached staying sober one day at a time, as they always would.
“How are things going with Nellie Ruth?” Mary asked. She’d always been the direct type and both men liked that about her.
“I’d say they’re going mighty fine. Mighty fine, indeed.” He beamed.
“I haven’t seen you look this happy for a long while,” she said. “If you keep this grinning up, I’m going to have to meet this lady pretty soon. Johnny says from what he’s seen of the two of you at The Piece, he thinks this could be The One.”
Edward Showalter shot her a broad smile. “Whoa! I don’t want to get ahead of myself here. But, so far, so good!” Even though he was a Godly man of faith, he still honored the old “don’t jinx it by talking about it” superstition. Johnny knew this about his friend and quickly veered Mary off her prying by changing the subject.
“Hey, remember when you mentioned the other day you were thinking about getting another dog?” Johnny asked. “Were you serious?”
“I was.”
“Right after that I saw a sign out on County Y that said FREE DOG TO GOOD HOME. I almost called you.”
“Didn’t say what kind?” Johnny shook his head. “Didn’t say free puppy, huh?”
“Free dog. D-O-G dog. Funny thing was, I didn’t notice the sign on the way to East St. Louis, but I did on the way back. I wonder if the dog did something bad in between and the owner said, ‘That’s it!’” He laughed his great belly laugh.
“How long ago was that?”
“Monday . . . no Tuesday evening’s when I went. I’d say the farm with the sign was about halfway down County Y.”
“What were you doing in East St. Louis? Pretty long drive for a quick turn-around.”
“Needed a few restaurant supplies and one of the bigger places was having a one-day tent sale until nine.”
“Get anything?”
“He did!” Mary said. “He got a wonderful pasta cooker for the restaurant. Have you tasted his spaghetti sauce lately? My, it’s good! He’s jazzed it up a bit, added a few secret ingredients.” Johnny loved the light that shone in her eyes when she was proud of her man. He hoped to see that same look for ES in Nellie Ruth’s eyes one day.
“I haven’t tasted his new sauce. Maybe Nellie Ruth and I can swing by next Saturday. Will you have it on the menu?”
“You betcha!”
“Say, did you get a New York City dish figured out yet?” When Johnny first opened his restaurant, his sign outside read A LITTLE PIECE OF NYC, which, much to his disappointment, everyone assumed meant New York City, even though the front of his menus clearly said “A Little Piece of New Yorkville Cuisine.” He finally tired of correcting everyone and decided to go ahead and feature a New York City dish on his menu, conversation about the possibilities becoming its own good advertisement. As of yet, however, it hadn’t been announced.
“I do have one concocted.”
“And?”
“And, why don’t you find out on Saturday? Spread the word about the great unveiling, okay? Mary, maybe you can swing by, too, just happen to be there when ES comes by, and check this Nellie Ruth out.”
16
After a week’s delay, Sunday afternoon Jacob finally made it back to his mother’s spare bedroom closet to hunt for the Christmas decorations. Dorothy wasn’t sure what, in her frenzy, she had kept before the auction, but she thought maybe a couple boxes were hidden amidst the many unlabeled ones stuffed in there. At least none of the boxes were very big, Jacob thought, but he hated to think she’d have had to wrestle them around by herself if he hadn’t been home. Then again, maybe she’d have had Earl come and help her. He was good at things like that. At least Jacob hoped his mom would be smart enough to ask for help, what with her heart condition. But she could be stubborn about things like that.
At last he’d checked each of the boxes, ultimately scooting three old Del Monte green beans shipping cartons out into the middle of the room, all appearing to have Christmas decorations on top of whatever else was in them. He was brushing the dust off his hands when Dorothy entered the room.
“Oh!” she said, applauding. “You found them! Now that I see those Del Monte boxes, I should have remembered,” she said, giving herself a gentle whap on the forehead. “Out of all the boxes I was packing I picked those matching boxes for the decorations because I figured that the D in Del Monte would remind me of decorations.”
“No comment,” he said.
“You can take me to the Supreme Court, Attorney Wetstra, but I shall say no more since clearly I was out of my mind.” He shook his head, his crooked grin warming her heart.
“Where do you want them?”
“Just set them up there on the bed so we can save our poor backs while we’re looking through them.”
“You got an old throw or something to cover your bedspread? The boxes are kind of dirty.”
; Dorothy scurried off and returned with a sheet. “Not old, but easily washed.” She shook out the floral flat sheet and let it float down on the bed, then smoothed it with her hands. Jacob hefted the boxes up. “Let’s have at it,” she said with glee. “I have no earthly idea what’s in them. To be honest, making decisions before the auction and the move got harder and harder, and at some point I just had to make up my mind to either toss or gloss. ‘Dorothy,’ I said to myself, ‘either toss it or gloss over it and put it in a box to take with you. You do not have the time or the stamina to process all of these memories!’” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I hope I don’t start missing things, realize I made some terrible decisions.”
“Like?”
“Like what if I can’t find Esmeralda!” She looked horrified at the thought.
Jacob sat down beside her, put his arms around her and drew her close as he kissed the top of her head. “I remember how hard it was for me to come help with the auction, Mom. So many memories. . . . I can’t imagine how hard it was for you, having been born in that house and living there all your life. You held up like a champion, though. And I have a sneaking suspicion that even though it was tough, you made all the right decisions. When haven’t you?” They turned to face each other. “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said, ramping up his enthusiasm. “Which box should we start with? Today, you have time for however many emotional journeys you feel like taking. It’ll be a good chance for me to hear some more of the stories.”
She stood and stared at the boxes for a moment, then tapped the one on the right. “Let the fun begin!” she said, tossing back the flaps. It felt a little like opening gifts on Christmas morning. As if God desired to calm her heart, the very first thing she withdrew was her beloved hand-carved wooden doll her grandfather, Granpy, had made for her fifth birthday. Esmeralda was wrapped in one of Dorothy’s mother’s old dish towels and carefully tucked inside the stable for the nativity set. “Esmeralda!” she exclaimed as she clutched the little doll to her chest, the dish towel falling by the wayside.
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 14
