Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “Howdy,” he said into the receiver. “Yes. I was just taking Nellie Ruth by my . . . Yup. Well, I guess I can. Sure thing. Be there as soon as I can.” He walked around the front of the van and got behind the wheel, hoping it hadn’t been a mistake to get a cell phone. “I hate to have to tell you this, Nellie Ruth, but I’m going to have to postpone your meeting with Mr. Kornflake. Seems Ms. Durbin, the mayor, Herb Morgan and me need to hold us an emergency meeting.” The tone in his voice made him sound very important to be cavorting with such influential people, Nellie Ruth thought. How did she ever get so lucky? she wondered.

  Of course, that was before she arrived home to discover what all can happen between Morning and Midnight.

  Katie had decided there were a number of reasons to hold the meeting at her house rather than in the Taninger building or Gladys’s office, not the least of which being they didn’t need to add fuel to the already blazing rumor mill by sitting around her makeshift table within eyeballing distance, as Arthur would say, of everyone on the square. She also didn’t want Gladys to be on her home turf, the implication being that she would then be in control. At first Katie wasn’t going to invite Edward Showalter, but she’d made the decision to make him her right-hand man in all things involving the mini mall, so what other choice did she have? Risky, yes, but unavoidable, she decided. She’d really wanted to invite Dorothy, too, but decided to keep her away from the gossip as much as she could. Now here they all were gathered around her kitchen table. She’d made a pot of coffee for Gladys and Herb, whose giant thermal plastic mug went with him everywhere, water with lemon for herself, and she’d stocked a twelve-pack of Coca-Cola for Edward Showalter who pounded them down one after another. They were all served and readied—laptop, notebook, index cards and/or legal pads in front of them—for this emergency brainstorming meeting.

  “Thank you for coming. As I’m sure you all know, the word around town,” Katie said, getting straight to the point, “is that rather than trying to breathe new life back into this town, we are trying to put many hardworking people out of business.” She stopped to shake her head. “You already know my intention, our intention, is to continue building on the fine work of our Acting Mayor Gladys McKern and her Centennial Plus Thirty when she helped us stand up and be counted.” Gladys opened her mouth to speak but Katie kept talking in order to hold the floor. “Herb, it also has not escaped my attention that for years you have single-handedly served the progress of this town through your involvement with its people and their land. I only wish Rick Lawson were here to receive his kudos, since he looked out for the legal interests of nearly all involved in those acquisitions and turnovers.” Herb tapped his mug with his finger and nodded in agreement, then cast his eyes toward Edward Showalter, as did Gladys, since Katie was obviously working her way around the table. Although Katie hadn’t prepared any back-pats for him, the first thing that came to her mind was his recent clock and billboard installation on the town hall in the middle of the square, so she extended a brief kudo for his handiwork and his commitment to helping her oversee the mini mall.

  “Praise is all well and good, Ms. Durbin,” Herb said, “but it would help us, well at least me, to have a solid answer to the verbal attacks.”

  Katie raised her eyebrows at the tone of his voice when he used the word “attacks.” This was indeed serious business. She opened the lid to her green file box and rifled through the folders until she came to the one marked “Publicity.” “What an excellent point, Herb. Perhaps one of the most important things we can accomplish at this meeting is to come up with a mission statement that describes our intent. Here are some of the words, phrases, strengths I’ve observed about Partonville. Attributes that I believe will, under our direction, help sell our vision to the townsfolk, visitors and perhaps even nationwide travelers one day.” Gladys cleared her throat. “Of course, some of these are things I’ve heard Gladys say.” Gladys repositioned her blazer and sat up a tad straighter. There, Katie thought, all settled.

  “Partonville is cozy and comfortable.” She stopped speaking for a moment when she noticed them all starting to write things down. “Safe.” Pause. “Vibrant.” She made eye contact with each of them in order to drive this last point home. “Vintage. And I mean that in the best ways. Partonville cares. And I think this might point toward a slogan or mission statement. What sets us apart is that we are not more of the same old, as in just another bunch of chain stores you can find everywhere. We are striving to become the new old by accenting what is best about us, infusing new stores with our heritage and the town’s quaint, circle-the-square feel.”

  “That was just beautiful,” Edward Showalter said with sincerity, looking like he might tear up.

  “You are exactly right, Katie,” Gladys added. “I have indeed referred to our town as vibrant—such a good strong word—and cozy,” she said looking at her notes. “You’ve done a fine job of capturing Partonville’s essence.” Capturing Partonville’s essence, Gladys wrote on her notes. Yes, she liked the way that rolled off her tongue.

  “Herb, what do you think?” Katie asked, noticing Herb had not looked up from the table in some time.

  “I think we’re on to something, I’m just not sure it’s what we need right now. I mean, if Sam Vitner came storming into my office taking issue with the rehab and land acquisitions, I’m not sure spewing words like cozy and comfortable would stop his ranting. I’m not sure,” he said, running his finger down his notes, “saying to him, ‘But Sam, Partonville cares,’ is going to calm him down. Know what I mean? I mean these are good words and phrases to use in advertising, but will they convince folks who’ve lived here their whole lives and are worried we’re changing things? I don’t think so.”

  “Now, Herb,” Gladys chided, “no need to be such a naysayer. Katie has come up with wonderful ideas!”

  Katie waited a moment to respond. “You know, Gladys,” Katie said thoughtfully, “Herb is exactly right. I have been thinking in terms of advertising. This is not how we’re going to quell a riot.”

  “Quell?” Edward Showalter asked. “Quell,” he said this time without the question mark, as though repeating the strange word would bring it into focus, make it comprehendible, understandable.

  Katie nearly moaned out loud. This was her right-hand man? She was doomed.

  Joshmeister,

  Congrats on the wheels! I told you Arthur knows his stuff. And you’re right: anyone can own a car but not many teen boys I know these days (which admittedly isn’t many) own a pickup with a V-8. However, your attorney is hereby advising you to never tell him in an e-mail how fast you can do zero to sixty, since it will leave what used to be known as a paper trail, one you wouldn’t want your mother to find. (As my mom would say, HA!)

  Thanks for asking about my case. It went well. We won and the rich got richer. However, I didn’t save a town like your mom is trying to do. Now *that* is honorable. Sounds like she’s got her hands more than full, though. Mom says she’s really up against it.

  I’ll be back in town Thursday in time for the Hookers’ (such talk) Christmas party on Saturday. Can’t wait to see your new ride. Stay out of trouble with it.

  Jacob

  “Thanks for the call, sweetie,” Dorothy said into her receiver as she sipped a cup of tea and continued her chat with Katie. Eight o’clock and Dorothy already had her robe and slippers on, an uncommon state of affairs but one that just seemed warranted this chilly, tired evening. “I think you’re all on the right trail. If you’d invited me to your meeting I probably would have declined anyway. I can tell you this, walking around being mad makes a body tired! I decided to cozy in today and just calm myself down. Aside from walking over to church this afternoon to set up the altar for tomorrow, I haven’t done a thing today but rest. And answer my crazy ringing phone.”

  “Oh, Dorothy, don’t tell me you’re being tormented by people for consorting with the enemy.”

  Dorothy laughed. “Well, first off, I am, as Jacob says,
a tough old bird. Don’t you worry about me, I can hold my own. But no, that’s not what the calls were about. I’m not sure if you’ll think this is good news or bad news, but your Durbinville plans have momentarily taken a back seat to the exciting events at The Piece.”

  “Oh? Josh and Shelby went there for the great unveiling but he wasn’t home long enough afterwards to talk with me. He picked up a warmer coat and off they went again. What happened?”

  “Oh, honey, I’ll let him tell you since he actually saw it. Must have really been something. I can hardly wait to hear his version myself.”

  “I’ll make sure I’m in the kitchen when he gets home since we need to talk about his truck anyway. He’s already had to ask for more gas money and I told him that was the last handout, that he was going to have to start thinking about conservation and responsibility, maybe even a part-time job. Actually, now that I think about it, I could use some advice on something else. I have an idea that might not only help Josh learn a little more responsibility and earn some gas money, but I believe it has the potential to help a couple other people as well. I’d like to fly it by you, see what you think.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  24

  Nellie Ruth scurried up her back steps, wind whipping at her heels, key in hand. She chuckled every time she recalled Father O’Sullivan’s prayer. Honestly, if she wasn’t such a happy Methodist, she’d join the Catholic church just to hear that man preach. Wait, she thought, priests don’t preach, they give homilies, right? But were those the same as sermons? They must be. And it’s not that she didn’t enjoy and learn from Pastor Delbert’s Sunday morning messages, but that Father O’Sullivan was such a card! “Baptizing with sauerkraut and the whole of New York City,” indeed, she mumbled while laughing and putting her key into the slot. Then a strange thought occurred to her. OH! You know he was just being funny, right, Lord? That he was just kidding around and not making fun of a holy sacrament? Of course You do! What’s the matter with me! You created him! Nellie Ruth McGregor, get over yourself! Sometimes you take things entirely too seriously.

  “I’m home!” she shouted to Morning and Midnight as she closed the door behind her, marveling at the way her new Splendid Rose paint made her whole house seem warmer and brighter. Since this was her first “new look” at the place since ES had finished the job this morning, if it hadn’t been so cold outside she’d have gone out and come in again just to experience the utter joy in the rediscovery. The smell of the fresh paint reminded her of him, the way he’d been so careful to cover her furniture, the absolutely straight line where the Splendid Rose on the walls met the cream color of her ceiling, the cream color having been his perfect idea. “I’ll tell you what, Nellie Ruth,” he’d said when she’d marveled over his steady hand, “that line wouldn’t have looked straight like that when I was drinking! It woulda looked more like waves in a pink ocean splashing up onto the shores of the ceiling.” She adored his humor, his turn of a poetic phrase.

  And in three short days she’d grown to utterly adore her kitties and become a little more relaxed about parenting them. It was wonderful to come home and have someone waiting for her arrival, happy to see her, she thought. Just wonderful. She’d sounded nothing short of a proud mama when she’d invited Bernice up on Thursday to meet her babies. “Oh, I can hardly wait,” Bernice had said. “It seems like years ago mine were just little munchkins. Your Edward Showalter was such a gentleman when he called to ask me about you having pets. It was all I could do not to follow him up the stairs when I saw him getting out of his van with that box. Such a wonderful surprise!” Bernice had adored Morning and Midnight, just like Nellie Ruth knew she would. She’d brought them a toy she’d packaged in one of those gift bags with tissue paper stuffed in the top. She’d even added a card from “Your Meowing Friends Downstairs.” “Nellie Ruth, if you ever need me to look after them, just give me a call. Or maybe we should set up a . . . what do the moms call that now? Oh, a play date. Maybe we should set up a play date for all our felines to meet each other.” The ladies had laughed, but in truth, they each thought it was a marvelous idea. Already, Nellie Ruth could barely remember her life without her new beauties. But it was the sounds of “your Edward Showalter” that kept vibrating in Nellie Ruth’s heart long after Bernice had left. Yes, her life was now beautiful, full and exploding with joy.

  And then she went to open her bathroom door, which she thought she’d closed but which was slightly ajar. Much to her shock, the kitties’ box was empty and they were nowhere in the bathroom to be seen.

  “Morning! Midnight! Here kitty-kitty!” she called as she moved back into her kitchen, on into her living room, then to her bedroom, looking under her dust ruffle, behind couches, plant stands and curtains. Then back to the bathroom to draw back her shower curtain and check her bathtub—just in case, then back into her kitchen. Maybe they were curled up on the kitchen chair seats which were tucked under the table. Nope. “Here kitty-kitty! Morning! Midnight! Here kitty-kitty!” She’d heard cats could disappear for hours when they wanted to, but she’d never really believed it. And kittens? Truth was, their little bodies could probably sneak into all kinds of places, dangerous places like next to electrical cords and outlets, a thought that caused her heart to skip a beat.

  There was now only one place she hadn’t looked: her music and craft room. She remembered she’d gone in there after ES had left to clean himself up for their venture to The Piece. She’d hauled her plastic bin of Christmas decorations down and scattered the items around the room, picturing which of her many treasures might best compliment her new paint color. Before she’d left she’d also taken a look in her plastic yarn bin, thought she might crochet ES a granny-square Christmas stocking because he didn’t have a stocking and Nellie Ruth said that would simply never do, especially since she was looking forward to filling it. Just when she had the perfect yarn colors picked out and was retrieving the right sized crochet hook, he’d knocked at the door and off they’d rushed so as not to be tardy for the unveiling of the NYC Dish.

  Running out of places to look, she entered her music and craft room and gasped. Her eyes scanned the room in disbelief: there were Midnight and Morning knee deep in tangled yarn, the pine comb Christmas wreath she’d made last year was batted to pieces, the cotton balls on Santa’s beard were hither and yon, his bare Styrofoam chin looking like someone had just shaved him. But the worst was yet to come. While scanning the chaos, she set her eyes on her precious hooked rug which she’d made herself when the Happy Hookers actually hooked, the very rug she still snuggled her bare toes into when she practiced her saxophone. Precisely in the middle was a pile of kitty poop.

  Nellie Ruth looked at her bedside clock. It was nearly 10 P.M. For hours she had fussed with the chaotic mess, gagging, wondering if her hooked rug should be dry cleaned, fumigated or thrown away, praying about trying to get over having had the mess. The whole incident was so upsetting she found herself wondering whether or not she was cut out to even be a pet owner. Her utter frustration with her vulnerable little kittens singed her with guilt like a hot poker straight to her moral center.

  She bolted out of bed and scurried to the bathroom to look in the kittens’ box, just to make sure Midnight and Morning were where they were supposed to be. “Just look at you two,” she said, “all rolled up, sleeping in a sweet little ball, looking so innocent.” Her heart melted. How could she even think about getting rid of them? This must be how parents felt, she thought, when they looked at their sleeping children at the end of a frustrating day. “But if you can get into this much trouble when you’re this small,” she whispered to them, “what’s going to happen when you’re full-grown? How can I even put my Christmas decorations up with you two? What will happen to my tree? I’m just not sure I’m equipped to handle it.”

  But then, the deal had been sealed with a kiss. She’d said so herself. Out loud. To ES.

  Back to praying she went. By 11 P.M. it occurred to her that maybe God was goin
g to use these kittens to at long last help her get over her fretting, neurotically tidy and serious self.

  Maybe.

  Wednesday afternoon delivered a miracle: Jacob left his office at 2 P.M. He had Christmas shopping to do before his early-morning trip to Partonville tomorrow and he wanted to be thoughtful about the gifts. Yes, he could finish his shopping after he got to Illinois—it was only December 17—but he had a few more gifts than usual to buy this year. He’d already ordered a couple items online for his brother and nephews to be delivered directly to Colorado after receiving the hard news they wouldn’t be coming to Partonville for Christmas. Vinnie had ended up with the boys for Thanksgiving and his ex said she now needed them home for Christmas because she and her boyfriend were hosting a party to announce their engagement. Jacob already had his mom’s gift but he wanted to get her a little something more. He’d never exchanged gifts with May Belle and Earl before and didn’t want them to think he was starting a gift exchange this year either. But he wanted to get them each something special for being such good new neighbors to his mother. Maybe, he thought, he should give May Belle a handwritten gift certificate to discuss legal options regarding Earl. His mom said since Rick died, May Belle had been distraught she’d never put anything in place. Perhaps he could help relieve her. Then there was Josh. How could he not get him a cool truck accessory or two? He needed time today to leisurely cruise through that giant auto store and do some scouting. And then he needed a housewarming gift to take to Katie for the Hookers’ party, then maybe a little something extra, just because she was working so hard. Just because.

  When Jacob arrived back in his Philadelphia home, shopping bags in tow, he noticed the message light on his answering machine was flashing. It was Roscoe. “Nobody’s stepped forward to handle Rick’s clients, Jacob. Mom and I are beside ourselves, not to mention poor Helen. I hate to bother you again after all you’ve already done for us, and I know it’s probably a crazy thing to even ask since you live in Pennsylvania, but we wondered if you might by chance know of someone, or a referral service, or. . . .” He’d exhausted any leads he’d been given and didn’t know where to turn next. “Anyway, give me a call if you can, Jacob.”