The Waltons 1 (12 page)

“What’s peculiar, sister?”

“We did buy a-dozen-and-a-half jars Saturday, didn’t we?”

“Oh yes, I’m certain we did.”

“But there are only three jars left. We couldn’t have drunk that many in two days. Or if we did, what happened to the empties?”

“They must be around here somewhere.”

Cousin Homer, who was watching the exchange closely, suddenly gave the ladies a sheepish smile. “I . . . uh, must make a small confession, Miss Mamie and Miss Emily. As you observed earlier, Miss Mamie, I’m afraid I am extremely ill suited to this kind of work. A man spends his entire adult life pursuin’ the intricate and lofty paths of commerce, and then is stunned to find himself a servile paradigm of clumsiness in the simplest of menial chores.”

“Why, whatever in the world are you talkin’ about, Cousin Homer?”

“A most unfortunate accident, I’m afraid, Miss Mamie. While transportin’ those new jars from the storeroom to this chamber this mornin’, my foot entangled itself with its own counterpart. The result, I fear, was a shattering disintegration of the entire lot of containers.”

“Oh dear! You didn’t injure yourself, did you, Homer?”

“Not a scratch, dear Emily. A fact which served only to amplify my chagrin and mortification.”

“Oh, it’s not important, Cousin Homer,” Miss Emily soothed. “You mustn’t feel bad.”

“Certainly not,” Miss Mamie chimed in. “We’ll have twelve dozen tomorrow. Now you just stop worryin’ yourself about it. Eighteen empty jars just don’t mean one thing!”

Jenny was staring at Cousin Homer, amazed by his performance. He smiled sadly at the two sisters and slowly shook his head.

“Ladies, your beauty and charm is surpassed only by your infinite generosity.”

“Oh, now, go along with you, Cousin Homer.” Miss Emily giggled. “What we have to do now is get this next batch straightened out before it all turns to sugar candy. That happened once before, years ago. Remember, Mamie?”

“Oh my, yes. We were havin’ company, and just havin’ so much fun we got the ingredients all wrong and then plumb forgot about it cookin’ in here. In the mornin’ the room was three inches deep in hard sugar candy.”

“Yes, it took Mr. Crittenbarger two weeks to chop it all out.”

“And didn’t Mr. Crittenbarger love the Recipe! I think the saddest day of his life was when he finished cleanin’ out this room and had to go home.”

Cousin Homer Lee was smiling at the ladies and Jenny glanced at John-Boy.

“Well, I guess I’ll be choppin’ that wood and bringin’ it in for you, Miss Mamie.”

“That’s fine, John-Boy. And Jenny, you just stay right here. After we get the Recipe properly cookin’ here, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

John-Boy gave Jenny a disappointed smile and went outside.

Most of the wood stacked behind the Baldwin sisters’ house had been delivered by John Walton late last fall. The logs were cut into short lengths, but still had to be split to be used as stovewood. John-Boy pulled down six chunks and got the ax, wondering if his father ever accepted jars of Recipe in exchange for the wood. If he did he would never dare bring any of them home. They would be emptied into the sink a half second after Olivia sniffed the contents. But there had been occasions, usually after he had gone fishing, when John Walton came home more bright-eyed than usual. And his mood seemed to have no correlation with the size of his catch.

“That’s a fine ax you swing there, John-Boy.”

The voice gave him a start. John-Boy had heard no doors closing, nor any footsteps, but Cousin Homer Lee was suddenly standing behind him, his thumbs hooked into his suspenders.

“Well, I get a lot of practice at home, Cousin Homer.”

“It’s a fine thing when a lad helps around the house. I think I can attribute a great measure of my success in the business world to the simple virtues I learned doin’ chores at home. Hard work builds character.”

“Yes, sir.” John-Boy nodded. He tossed the split pieces to the side and set up another log.

Cousin Homer moved closer. “Say, John-Boy, I don’t want to impinge on your good nature, but I wonder if you might do me another small favor?”

“Sure.”

“It’s the dear ladies’ welfare I have in mind. And frankly, John-Boy, I’m a little worried.” Cousin Homer frowned darkly and kicked at the dirt. “One never knows when one gets older. Why, in Chicago last summer I observed a man—couldn’t have been forty years of age—grasp at his heart while standin’ on a street corner. A minute later, rest his soul, he was dead.” Cousin Homer snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Now I’m not suggestin’ that either Miss Emily or Miss Mamie is in ill health. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if they both lived to be a hundred and ten. But you just never know, John-Boy.”

“I expect not.”

“But I could never forgive myself, John-Boy, if it were within my power to save one of the dear ladies, and by some oversight, by some lack or preparedness, I found myself unable to do so. What I’m talkin’ about, John-Boy, is a new battery for the Baldwin sisters’ vehicle.”

“I see,” John-Boy said, but he didn’t see at all.

“You can imagine if there were an emergency, and I should run out to the car to go for a doctor, and there I should find a dead battery. In those few lost minutes, John-Boy, those precious minutes, I could lose a cousin. And I don’t think I have to tell you the high regard with which I hold those dear ladies.”

“No sir.”

“So, what is our problem? The ladies, it seems, do not feel any urgency about having their automobile ready and able to operate at a moment’s notice. It seems that they very seldom use the vehicle and regard its condition with, uh, we might say, indifference.”

John-Boy nodded. It was true the Baldwin sisters very seldom drove anywhere.

“Now, the problem, John-Boy, is that I find myself temporarily without ready funds. All my cash, unfortunately, is tied up in foreign banks, trust funds, securities of a various nature, things like that. I’m sure you’re familiar with the liquidity problems of high finance. In any case, should it be needed, I deem it essential that medical care be available within minutes for my cousins. The Baldwins, you may not be aware, have a fragile bloodline. And for that reason, John-Boy, a battery must be secured for their car with the utmost haste.”

“I really don’t have any money to be lendin’ you, Cousin Homer.”

“Ah, dear boy, such an imposition on our short friendship would never enter my mind. ‘Neither a lender nor a borrower be’ has been my constant and unswerving financial credo. No, what I’m askin’, John-Boy, is a far simpler thing. I want you to do no more than secure a new battery from Mr. Ike Godsey, whom I understand is the proprietor of the local mercantile establishment, and charge it to the account of the Baldwin sisters. This is something I would never consider, John-Boy, unless I were convinced that it was necessary for their own health and welfare. And have no fear, there is every indication that my financial position will become far more liquid in the near future. At that time I will personally settle the bill with Mr. Godsey, and the battery will thus become a gift from me to my dear cousins, and will be given with my blessin’s and best wishes. However, in order for me to attend to my affairs—sign papers, consult with my bankers, that sort of thing—I shall be required to journey into Charlottesville and perhaps Richmond. I am sure you can appreciate that, John-Boy.”

John-Boy nodded. He saw no reason for Cousin Homer circling around the tree ten or twelve times before he made the request to charge the car battery. Miss Emily and Miss Mamie probably wouldn’t give it a second thought. But John-Boy did see the reason why Homer was so concerned about making trips to Charlottesville and having a car ready to go at a moment’s notice. Dependable transportation would be very handy if Sheriff Bridges came looking for him.

“I’m not sure Ike Godsey has any batteries at the store,” John-Boy said.

Cousin Homer’s face darkened. “Ahhh, that possibility I failed to consider. However, I’m sure you could have him order it. Or better still, if you could drive to Charlottesville in your truck?”

“I don’t think I could do that. And I don’t expect the Baldwin sisters have credit accounts down there.”

“Yes, I see your point. Well, I would greatly appreciate it, John-Boy, if you would have Mr. Godsey take care of the matter as hastily as possible. And have no doubt, my boy, in the endeavor there will be a small gratuity for your services. Say, five dollars if the battery is here within the next two days?”

“That won’t be necessary, Cousin Homer.” His mother was disturbed enough without his taking money from a bootlegger.

“You’re a fine lad, John-Boy. And by the way, you might increase the order for mason jars by another six dozen. I had no idea the ladies were goin’ to send out so many invitations.”

After Cousin Homer left, John-Boy chopped the rest of the wood, wondering if he should report the conversation to Sheriff Bridges. With a new battery in the Baldwin sisters’ car, Homer just might load up with Recipe and disappear in the middle of the night. And the theft of all the Recipe would probably be disastrous for the ladies’ family reunion.

John-Boy carried the wood inside and found Miss Mamie and Miss Emily in the parlor. But just inside the door he stopped short and caught his breath.

Standing in the middle of the room, Jenny Pendleton was wearing a long hoopskirted dress covered with yellow ribbons. In her hand she had a matching parasol, and a huge picture hat extended below her shoulders. John-Boy had seen pictures of southern belles in the Civil War era, but none of them looked so beautiful as Jenny.

The Baldwin sisters were smiling with delight, and Jenny twirled lightly around, revealing some kind of ruffled pantaloons on her legs.

“You like it, John-Boy?”

“Yes,” he choked.

“Doesn’t she look just lovely,” Miss Emily sighed. “That’s the dress I was wearin’ when Ashley Longworth kissed me under the maple tree.”

“And our grandmother wore it at a reception for General Robert E. Lee almost seventy-five years ago.”

“And we want Jenny to wear it at our family reunion!”

Jenny blushed and looked helplessly at John-Boy. The dress was beautiful, but not exactly the kind of thing young girls wore these days.

“It’s sure the prettiest dress I ever saw,” John-Boy said.

“And we think Jenny is the prettiest girl in all of Walton’s Mountain, and that she should wear it. Don’t you agree, John-Boy?”

“If Ashley Longworth is coming,” Jenny said, “I think you should wear the dress, Miss Emily.”

Miss Emily smiled shyly and gave her sister a cautious glance. “Oh, I don’t think Ashley would remember. And the dress is for someone young and gay. For someone who’s expectin’ to be courted.”

“I think the dress would look real nice on you, Miss Emily.”

“Do you really think so, John-Boy?”

Miss Mamie was gazing wistfully at the dress as if her thoughts were on the happier days of grand parties and handsome young men. She took a long breath and looked firmly at Emily. “Sister,” she said with sudden decisiveness, “I agree with Jenny and John-Boy.
You
should wear the dress.”

Miss Emily gasped and then looked hesitantly at each of them, as if to reassure herself of their sincerity. They were all smiling, waiting for her decision.

“Well,” she murmured, “I . . . I suppose I could wear it. I mean, if y’all really think . . .” Her eyes suddenly glistened and she fumbled for a handkerchief. “I just don’t know. I mean if . . . I’m just not sure it still fits.”

“Of course it’ll fit.” Miss Mamie smiled. “And you’ll look lovelier than ever in it!”

Miss Emily blew hard into the handkerchief. But she still had trouble getting words out. “You’ll all just . . . have to excuse me.” She laughed weakly. “I just don’t know what’s come over me all of a sudden. It’s just the strangest thing . . .” She suddenly rose and hurried from the room.

Ike Godsey was busy with two other customers when John-Boy brought in the invitations for mailing. Mrs. Merrill was at the counter, placing her purchases in a basket while Ike toted up her bill, and the other woman, Mrs. Latham, was at the rear. John-Boy’s attention went immediately to Mrs. Latham.

Clay Latham was one of the few people in Walton’s Mountain who had a regular job. He had once been a foreman at the soapstone plant down in Charlottesville, but since so many men had been laid off he now operated a cutting machine. But he had a steady check coming in every week, and what alarmed John-Boy was that Mrs. Latham was now gazing thoughtfully at the used washing machine in the back corner. John-Boy set the envelopes in front of Ike’s post-office cage and hurried back.

“Hello, John-Boy.” Mrs. Latham smiled.

John-Boy nodded. “Mrs. Latham.”

Once he was at her side, John-Boy didn’t know exactly what to do. Mrs. Latham touched the wringer mechanism, ran her fingers along the rollers, and drew back her hand.

“That’s a right old machine, Mrs. Latham. Secondhand, you know.”

“Not many people can afford new ones these days, John-Boy.”

“I expect so, but sometimes buyin’ old ones costs more fixin’ ’em up than new ones’d cost.”

“Yes. But Clay’s very good at fixin’ things.”

“If you can get parts. Sometimes the right parts are hard to find.”

Mrs. Latham nodded vaguely and lifted the lid from the tub. “Well,” she sighed and replaced it, “I expect I’d better talk to Clay ’bout it first. Nice-lookin’ machine, though.”

To John-Boy’s relief she smiled at him and moved away. Mrs. Merrill was finished at the counter and the two women went out the door together.

“What can I do for you, John-Boy?”

“I’d sure appreciate it, Ike, if you’d put a sign on that machine sayin’ it’s sold.”

Ike laughed. “There’s a slight difference between sold and a down payment, John-Boy.”

John-Boy pulled a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket. “Look-a-here, Ike. Five more dollars to add to the dollar I already paid.”

“Fine. And I’ll give you a receipt. Nineteen more dollars and I’ll put a sold sign on it.”

“Fourteen more, Ike. The price was twenty dollars.”

“Was it twenty? Yep, I guess you’re right. You’re a sharp trader, John-Boy.”