Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (21 page)

Hollering, he half-rolled, half-stumbled until he reached the hall below and bounded out the door. And Lily, gripping the banisters, yelled a word she wasn't even aware she knew, and then she cried.

*   *   *

“Looks like whoever it was is long gone,” Bobby Tinsley said after searching the house and surrounding area, “but if you hit him as hard as you say, all we have to do is look for somebody with a big knot on his head.” He knew he shouldn't smile, but the very thought of timid Lily Moss lurking in the hallway to attack a burglar was as rewarding as a big piece of sweet potato pie. Warren Nelson had found Lily's coverlet draped over a leafless forsythia bush on the front lawn, and the two of them had checked for footprints under the kitchen window, but the ground was hard and covered in leaves. They did dust for fingerprints and took pictures of the broken window before boarding it up temporarily.

Lily had brought out the broom and dustpan, intending to dispose of the shattered glass, but Sergeant Nelson immediately took them from her.

“My goodness, I can help,” she announced in a voice that still sounded frail, but he would have none of it.

“Heroes shouldn't have to sweep, and tonight, Miss Lily Moss, you are one brave hero.” And she didn't even correct him to say that in her case she'd be a
heroine.

“I wonder if this has anything to do with what happened to little Willie Elrod yesterday afternoon,” Warren said as the three sat in the parlor, where Lily had insisted on serving tea.

Lily quickly set aside her cup. “My goodness! What happened to Willie?”

Bobby told her about the bicycle accident, except, he explained, it wasn't any accident. “And he got a pretty bad lump on his head, too. His mother called Doc Morrison just in case, and she's keeping an eye on him, but they think he'll be just fine.”

“Why would anybody do such a thing?” she asked.

“Willie blames it on a boy in his class. Seems they recently had a difference of opinion,” Warren said, “but of course the boy denies it, and we have no way to prove he's not telling the truth.”

When Phoebe arrived a short time later, she was surprised to find two members of the local police department being entertained in her parlor by none other than Lily Moss, and she was even more surprised to hear how Lily had sent a would-be burglar running.

“We've checked to see if anything's missing, and Miss Lily here seems to think nothing was taken,” Bobby told her, “but you might want to look around just to be sure.”

“Silver's all here, and I can't think of anything else valuable enough to steal,” Phoebe told them later. “I don't like this at all, Bobby. What do you suppose he was looking for? I've lived in this house more years than I care to admit, and this is the first time anything like this has happened. Thank goodness you weren't hurt, Lily! But what if this person decides to come back?”

“He'll be afraid to if he knows what's good for him,” Bobby said, smiling, and then he grew serious. “I don't know what's going on, but we'll be checking around here on a regular basis, and if you have even the slightest sense that something's not right, promise you'll call me right away.” Yawning, Lily agreed.

*   *   *

At the Methodist church on Sunday, just about everyone in her Sunday school class had heard of Lily's remarkable bravery, and although she put on a modest face, Lily had to admit to herself she enjoyed the rare attention.

“I suppose you've all heard what happened to Willie Elrod.” Geneva Odom, who had taught Willie in the second grade, told them what had taken place. “Thank goodness the little rascal's going to be all right,” she added, remembering how she had wanted to wring his neck one minute and hug it the next when Willie had been in her class.

“Well, that's just plain mean,” someone else said. “Why would anybody do that? Willie wouldn't have any money or anything else to steal.”

“Sounds like it was all because of a quarrel with another boy, but of course they aren't sure,” Geneva said. “And his mother told me he was worried that he'd lost his library book. Emma couldn't find it when she went back to look for it, but Marjorie Mote discovered it the next morning underneath that big boxwood at the edge of her walk.

“Willie was really upset about it, Emma said. He had to get on a waiting list to read it.”

*   *   *

The police had lifted fingerprints from the outside and immediate inside of the kitchen window where the intruder had entered, and had also taken prints from Lily and Phoebe. It would have been almost impossible, they said, to distinguish between the jumble of prints left by everyone who lived there, as well as the ones belonging to Odessa.

Halloween was only two days away and the two women spent the afternoon decorating the house with festive yellow candles and vases of chrysanthemums in autumn colors. The year before, someone had purchased from the dime store a papier-mâché jack-o'-lantern, which Phoebe centered on the parlor mantel, and on the porch a fat orange pumpkin waited for Augusta to carve.

Lily felt lonely without the others and wished they would hurry and return, but she didn't want to hurt Phoebe's feelings by mentioning it. Well, it wouldn't be long, she thought. If all went as planned, their friends were due to get home sometime that night, as they were expected at school the next day.

Earlier, Chief Tinsley had dropped by to tell them they hadn't found a match for the prints lifted from the window. “But that doesn't mean we won't,” he added. “There's still a chance they might turn up somewhere down the road.”

“Speaking of ‘down the road,'” Phoebe said after he left, “I wonder where Dimple and the others are now. If they left there early this morning, they should be well into Georgia by this time, don't you think?”

And Lily agreed that they should.

An hour or so later, when the travelers had still not returned, the two wondered again. They had eaten a light supper, washed the dishes, and turned on the radio to listen to the
Jack Benny
Show
. Both admitted they would miss Dennis Day, the sweet Irish tenor, who was joining the navy, but looked forward to the hilarious comments of Jack's butler, Rochester, and the “tightwad” jokes from Jack himself. The show, they noticed, was now being sponsored by Lucky Strike cigarettes, whose acronym, LSMFT meant “Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.” Earlier in the war, the packaging had been changed to red instead of the original green, as an ingredient in the green coloring was needed in the war effort. The company took advantage of the change to advertise: “Lucky Strike has gone to war,” and many Americans took exception to that.

“They really should be here by now,” Lily said at the end of the show. “I hope they haven't had an accident or something.”

“I suppose they stopped somewhere for supper,” Phoebe said, and going to the window, searched for approaching headlights. She didn't want to alarm Lily, but she was worried, too. “I'm sure they'll be home by ten,” she said in an effort to calm herself as well as Lily.

But the four did not return by ten, nor did they by eleven.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

“You'll be living with the Applewhites,” they told her. A farm family, they said. Well, that was all right with Dimple Kilpatrick. She had been raised on a farm and lived there for most of her life, except for the time away at college to earn her teaching certificate.

As long as Dimple could remember, she had wanted to teach, and here she was at nineteen, certified at last to begin teaching in her first school. But
Tennessee
? Dimple had never lived that far from home and was yet to set foot in any state but the one she'd been raised in. And what about Henry? Her younger brother had been eight and she fourteen when their mother died, and he was still attending the same small school where Dimple had received her diploma a few years earlier. Her papa hired someone to cook and clean, but Dimple had been responsible for her brother for almost half his life. Who would see that he did his homework and went to bed on time? Who would make sure he had clean clothes to wear? She had always known Henry was bright, and hoped he would someday be able to fulfill his ambition to attend college at Georgia Tech, in Atlanta. Their papa loved them, of course, but he worked hard all day and was too tired at night to do more than eat supper and go to sleep in his chair.

Dimple had hoped to find a school closer to home, but teaching positions were scarce in their area, and because of a drought, her father's crops had been disappointing that year. He had assured them they weren't in danger of losing the farm, but Dimple was aware she needed the income to help out.

A few weeks before she graduated, one of her professors told her of a teaching position near her hometown in Tennessee, and with her recommendation and Dimple's outstanding record in college, she soon received a letter of acceptance from the school board there.

The Applewhites raised dairy cattle in the small community of Willow, she was told. And that was all she was told.

This is not the same as leaving for college, Dimple thought as she and her papa began the long buggy ride to Atlanta.
This is forever.
In Atlanta, she would board the Louisville and Nashville train to Lewisburg, Tennessee, and there would be met by her hosts for the coming year.

What if they didn't like her? What if she didn't like them? A portion of her small salary would go to the Applewhites for her room and board, and she couldn't help worrying about the “board” part. Dimple was accustomed to hard work and sacrifices, but she appreciated a well-cooked meal. What if her hostess was an indifferent cook, or, worse, a bad one?

For heaven's sake, what a silly thing to worry about, she told herself. Just eat what you're given and be glad of it, as she and her fellow students had been reminded in college where the fare was often less than desirable.

“Now, you take care of yourself, little girl,” her papa said as she boarded the train, and she had held on to him until the conductor yelled “All aboard!”

Papa hadn't called her “little girl” since … well, since she was one, and she felt a terrible emptiness as she watched him disappear from sight.

Neighbors had packed her a box lunch of tiny ham biscuits, deviled eggs, a small jar of fresh peach slices, and a generous wedge of chocolate cake. She thought of them fondly as she ate and wondered if Papa would reach home before dark, and if Henry would remember to write. Dimple watched the rolling hills of home turn into higher ones, and then to mountains as the train took her far from the people she loved best, and she allowed herself a few tears—but only a few—before settling down to begin a new book,
The Mystery of Mr. Bernard Brown,
a gift from her college roommate. Saving the cake for last, Dimple finished it as the train chugged its way into Tennessee, and wondered if it would be the last piece of cake she would have for a long time.

Dimple sat up with a jolt when the conductor called out the next station as Lewisburg. Why, it was almost dark outside! How could she have gone to sleep at a time like this? She smoothed the wrinkles from her gored skirt (navy, so it wouldn't show dirt), straightened the collar of her new white blouse with its tiny bit of lace at the throat, and checked to see if her hair was in place. Dimple had thick chestnut hair with a slight wave and wore it in a bun on top of her head, but strands were always coming loose and falling about her face. She wore her mother's watch pinned to the short piqué jacket that matched her skirt, and now saw that it was after seven o'clock.

Before stepping from the train, she set her small straw hat in place with a hat pin and pinched her cheeks as her mother used to do, “just to give them a little color,” she'd said; gathered her valise and a small purse and stepped down into Lewisburg, Tennessee.

The man who greeted her at the depot was the tallest man she had ever seen, and Dimple found herself looking up—up—up and wondering if she'd ever reach the top. He introduced himself as McKinney Applewhite but added that everyone called him Mac and he hoped she'd do the same. He had warm brown eyes, a mustache like her papa's shaving brush, and wore overalls that still smelled of wash day.

“Sadie's home keeping supper warm,” he told her as he hoisted her luggage into the back of his buggy. “Thought you might be hungry after this long trip. Hope you like fried chicken and sweet potato pie.”

And Dimple thanked him and smiled. Maybe she wouldn't go hungry here after all.

The Applewhites lived several miles out of town on a large farm they called Willowvale, Dimple was told, named after the nearby village and the graceful trees found along the wiggling waterways that meandered through the land.

“I understand you raise dairy cattle,” Dimple said as the two of them jounced along.

And that was just about the last thing she had a chance to say, as her host began praising the advantages of the Jersey cow and all its glorious attributes. “Best cow God ever made,” he said. “Gentle, too, and wait till you taste that milk!

“Now, Glory, she'll follow you around just like a dog,” he continued. “I reckon we've had her the longest.” He laughed. “And Matilda—well, she likes her head scratched.”

“Do you name all your cattle?” Dimple asked.

“Well now, don't reckon we'd be able to do that, but they're a good sort, every one of them.”

For the better part of an hour, he talked of the land where he had been raised, as had his father before him. He told her of the big red oaks that shaded the yard, of the vegetable garden behind the house, and the black-and-white sheepdog, Ernie, who herded the cattle and slept near the kitchen stove on winter nights. He spoke of the delights of a watermelon keeping cold in the creek at the end of a hot summer day, and the sleepy sound July flies made at twilight. Dimple tried her best to see beyond the yellow glow of the carriage lamps, hoping to glimpse the welcoming light of the place she was soon to call home, but they were surrounded in darkness.