The Waltons 1 (3 page)

“A dozen jars will be fine, Mr. Godsey,” Miss Mamie responded.

“Don’t forget about Cousin Homer Lee, sister.”

“Oh, dear, I forgot about him,” Miss Mamie exclaimed. “Yes, you’d better make it two dozen jars, Mr. Godsey. And we’ll be needin’ more grain and malt. And sugar, of course.”

Ike made a check of his storeroom. “You got visitors at your place, ladies?” he called out.

“Yes. Fourth cousin Homer Lee Baldwin is visitin’ from Buckin’ham County. And he
does
love Papa’s Recipe.”

“Don’t think I ever met him. He the one who ran off with that circus sideshow lady?”

“Oh dear, no! That was cousin Clyde. Cousin Homer Lee’s a businessman.”

Ike came out of the storeroom burdened with cartons. “That so? What business he in?”

“Oh, all sorts of grand business enterprises, Mr. Godsey. I declare, Cousin Homer’s been just about ever’where an’ done just all sorts of interestin’ things.”

“You must come callin’,” Miss Mamie added, “I’m just sure you an’ Cousin Homer would just have so much to talk about, you bein’ in business and all.”

“I’d enjoy that, Miss Mamie. Afraid I only got a dozen and a half mason jars right now. But a new delivery ought to be here in a day or two.”

“That’ll do just fine, Mr. Godsey.”

They all looked to the front door as the bell tinkled and John-Boy came in.

“Why, John-Boy Walton, how nice to see you!”

“Mornin’, Miss Mamie, Miss Emily.”

“Now just look at you,” Miss Emily said. “Why, you’re gettin’ just as handsome as you can be, John-Boy. And how’s your daddy and Mr. Walton? It’s just been ages since they’ve come a-callin’.”

“They’re fine, ma’am.”

“You be sure an’ tell ’em now that we’d just admire ever so much seein’ ’em any time they’re out our way.”

“Sure will, ma’am.”

“And your mama too. It’d be such a pleasure to have her come a-callin’ some time.”

“Yes’m.” John-Boy smiled politely, but he had no intention of passing along the invitation. In spite of Judge Morley Baldwin’s reputedly superior bloodlines, in the eyes of John-Boy’s mother the Baldwin sisters were far from the most upstanding citizens of Walton’s Mountain. She would tolerate them, just as she might tolerate a town loafer or a woman who dyed her hair. But she would do so with her back stiff and her lips tight. The gracious traditions of Southern Hospitality were not nearly so important to her as regular attendance at the Baptist Church and strict avoidance of alcohol in all its forms.

The two ladies returned to examining merchandise, and John-Boy moved to the counter where Ike was totaling up figures. He had hoped there would be no other customers in the store so he could talk some business and maybe do some haggling with Ike. But it looked like the Baldwin sisters would be there for some time. And Ike was working hard on the numbers.

“What can I do for you, John-Boy?”

“Oh, nothin’ much,” John-Boy shrugged. He glanced around the store and peered sharply into the back. “Say, Ike . . . a while back didn’t you used to have an old secondhand washin’ machine for sale around here?”

“Still got it, and it ain’t so old. It’s back there in the corner.”

Ike was still working on the figures and John-Boy moved casually to the rear of the store. In doing business with Ike Godsey, the worst thing a person could do was appear eager to make a purchase. John-Boy found the washing machine under a pile of new coveralls, and knelt beside it. How an electric washing machine operated was a mystery to him. But the motor and all the gears and shafts seemed to be in good shape. The machine was gray, and altogether it didn’t look as sleek as the Water Witches in the Sears & Roebuck catalog. But there were no big dents or scratches. John-Boy lifted the coveralls enough to peer into the tub, and then strolled casually back to the counter.

“How much you askin’ for the old thing, Ike?”

“You gettin’ married an’ settlin’ down, John-Boy?”

“No. I was kinda thinkin’ about it for my mama.”

Ike gave him a sly glance and went back to his figures. “How’s thirty-five dollars sound to you?”

“Sounds right steep for a secondhand machine.”

“Machine’s hardly used at all. Claytons only had it a couple months before they moved on to Kentucky.”

“They got new ones in the Sears & Roebuck catalog for only fifty dollars.”

“Well, John-Boy, I’m in no real rush to sell it, I reckon.”

John-Boy shrugged. “Well, I reckon I’m in no real rush to buy it either. Not at that price.” John-Boy moved over to a display of hunting knives and studied them with interest.

“ ’Course,” said Ike, “seein’ as how it’s for your mama, now I might think about lettin’ you have it for thirty dollars. As is.”

John-Boy considered the offer. “I might pay twenty. But I don’t even know if the thing works.”

“Oh, it works fine. Slick as a whistle.” Ike smiled. “Twenty-five dollars, John-Boy. That’s rock bottom.”

“Twenty.”

Miss Emily was smiling from one to the other, fascinated by the dickering process. Ike scratched his head, glanced at Miss Emily, then went back to his figures. “You’re a hard bargainer, John-Boy. Okay, it’s yours. Twenty dollars.”

Miss Emily beamed happily, as if she had struck the bargain herself. “Oh, your mama is just goin’ to love that machine, John-Boy. Imagine, a brand-new washer!”

“Yes’m,” John-Boy smiled, and turned back to the counter. “There’s just one more thing, Ike. I don’t have the money right now, and I was kinda hopin’ I might be able to work it out some way. I could come down here every day after school and make deliveries and do odd jobs for you. And I could be here all day this week, durin’ vacation.”

Ike stared as if John-Boy had suddenly gone mad. “You want me to give you a job, so’s you can get the washer for nothin’!”

“I’ll work hard, Ike. It’s not like you weren’t gettin’ somethin’ in return.”

“I’m sorry, John-Boy. I’d like to accommodate you, but money’s short with me, same as ever’body else. An’ I’m givin’ you that washin’ machine for practically nothin’ as it is.”

“You could work for us, John-Boy!”

It took John-Boy a minute to realize what had been said and who said it. Miss Emily had stepped forward and was smiling brightly at him. “We’d be just ever so delighted to have you,” she bubbled, “and we’ve got just all kinds of things you can do! Oh, I just think this is the most wonderful idea! Now, John-Boy, you just wait here a minute while I discuss it with my sister!”

“But, Miss Emily—”

John-Boy gaped with alarm as she hurried off to talk to Miss Mamie. Working for the Baldwin sisters was completely out of the question. Considering his mother’s attitude, he might just as well hire himself out to the devil.

Ike was watching the whole thing with a broad grin. “Looks like you got yourself a job, John-Boy.”

“But I can’t! Mama would skin me alive if she found out I was workin’ at the Baldwin place.”

“Oh, I don’t reckon they’re gonna have you makin’ whiskey for ’em, John-Boy. Likely they got somethin’ else in mind for you.”

“Yes, but—”

It was the last chance John-Boy had to protest. The two sisters were suddenly hurrying over, bursting with enthusiasm. “Why, this is just the most wonderful news, John-Boy! Emily tells me you’re goin’ to help us out, and you’re goin’ to buy your mama a washin’ machine with all your earnin’s!”

“Help from heaven!” Miss Emily chimed in. “An’ just when we needed it most! Didn’t this just work out perfectly, sister?”

“We have a guest, you see, John-Boy, and—”

“Fourth Cousin Homer Lee Baldwin from Buckin’ham County!”

“He’s such a hearty eater.”

“We just hadn’t heard from him in years, John-Boy. We thought he’d gone into politics. The Baldwins have always excelled at politics, don’t you know. But lo and behold, Thursday mornin’ I opened the door and there he was! Cousin Homer!”

“You sure you really need me, Miss Emily?” John-Boy asked. “I mean, maybe your cousin could help out.”

He didn’t intend the statement to be humorous, but they both giggled. “Did you hear that, Mamie?”

Miss Mamie shook her head. “Cousin Homer Lee and physical labor just never made each other’s acquaintance, I’m afraid, John-Boy.”

“Perfectly charmin’ gentleman, don’t you see,” Miss Emily added. “But delicate.”

“Got it from his mama, poor boy.”

“She wasn’t a Baldwin, of course. What could one expect?”

“When will you report for work, John-Boy?”

“Well, I—” John-Boy glanced at Ike and scratched his head. It was hopeless to protest any more. As far as the Baldwin sisters were concerned the matter had been long settled. “Well,” he shrugged, “I guess whenever you say, Miss Emily.”

“Splendid! And I expect there’s no time like the present, is there.”

“This will be so nice,” Miss Mamie said. “And won’t Cousin Homer Lee be delighted. All of those things on the counter there are ours, John-Boy.”

The ladies headed for the door and John-Boy gathered the boxes and bags. “Ike, you’ll hold that washin’ machine for me, won’t you?”

“Sure will, John-Boy. Unless in the meantime somebody comes in here with cash on the barrelhead.”

“But . . . suppose I get enough for a down payment?”

“Well, now I reckon that depends on the size of the down payment.”

“Yoooo-hooooo!” Miss Emily called from the door.

As quickly as John-Boy got into the car he knew he had made a mistake; that he should have protested more strongly. Still, he didn’t know how he could have done it without hurting their feelings. On the other hand, he had no idea how he was going to explain the whole thing to his mother.

The Baldwin sisters’ car was a 1921 Franklin that looked as clean and shiny as the first day Judge Baldwin drove it up from Richmond fourteen years earlier. John-Boy squeezed into the back with all the purchases while the ladies arranged their skirts, and Miss Mamie, seated behind the wheel, finally decided they were ready to go.

Once they had made a broad turn, which carried them through a weed patch and back onto the road, Miss Mamie operated the vehicle as if she believed her only obligation was to keep her hat in place and keep a tight grip on the wheel to avoid falling out. Left to its own devices, the car angled to one side until its wheels caromed into a ditch or a plowed field. At that point Miss Mamie, smiling benignly, made a sharp correction and they angled slowly across the road toward the opposite shoulder.

“You’re just goin’ to love Cousin Homer Lee, John-Boy,” Miss Emily said. “It’s so rare to encounter a true gentleman these days. And my, how he enjoys Papa’s Recipe! I do so enjoy seein’ a man eat and drink with such vigor, don’t you, Mamie?”

Miss Mamie struggled with the wheel, straightened her hat, and sent them back on a leftward course. “It truly is a pleasure, sister. I just can’t hardly remember the last time we had a man around the house.”

John-Boy held his breath each time they approached the edge of the road. But what concerned him even more was the possibility that he might be seen with the Baldwin sisters, and he kept a sharp lookout for anyone in the fields or walking along the road.

He had no idea what kind of work they had in mind for him, or if it was just for the day or would require him to return several times. If whatever it was could be completed in one afternoon, he could very likely tell his mother about it without her getting too upset. The job would be done and she would see that he had not been corrupted or enticed into evil ways by their famous Recipe.

“Isn’t the springtime lovely,” Miss Emily was saying. “I just love to see all the little flowers a-blossomin’ and the birds singin’. It’s a joy to drive through the countryside again. Don’t you think so, John-Boy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John-Boy said. Then for the tenth time he caught his breath as Miss Mamie fought the wheel and set them back on a starboard course.

The original Baldwin mansion had been destroyed in the Civil War. All that remained of the four Grecian columns and gracious verandas were a few stumps protruding from the weed-covered foundations. In a shady grove a few hundred yards beyond the original site Judge Baldwin had constructed a miniature replica of the mansion, and Miss Mamie carefully aimed the car at an open garage attached to the side. She stiffened, her foot against the brake pedal, and the car groaned, shuddered, and bucked, then choked into silence as they came to a perfectly positioned stop inside.

“Well!” Miss Mamie sighed, “wasn’t that a delightful drive?”

“I declare, sister, you’re gettin’ better every time we go out. Don’t you think so, John-Boy?”

“Yes’m.”

From the garage, a door opened into a comfortable room, half of which was filled with coils of copper tubing, cauldrons, a wood-burning stove, and cupboards. The other half was furnished with leather chairs and low tables, giving it the appearance of a gentleman’s study.

“This is our Recipe room, John-Boy.” Miss Mamie smiled. “Did you know we still make Papa’s Recipe? It’s such a comfort to us, and people come from all over Walton’s Mountain just to taste it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You can bring the supplies in here, and then just come on in and meet Cousin Homer Lee.”

The ladies went through a second door, removing their hats, and John-Boy brought the supplies in from the car. He had heard so many stories about the Baldwin sisters’ Recipe room he was pleasantly surprised by its homey appearance. He had expected something more like a medieval dungeon with mossy walls and torture racks.

When he finished unloading the car, John-Boy went through the kitchen and followed the sound of voices into the living room, where he had his first view of Cousin Homer Lee.

He was an impressively handsome man, standing casually by the fireplace. His silvery hair reached almost to his collar, and his goatee and string tie reminded John-Boy of pictures he had seen of famous southern senators. He was holding a silver goblet in his hand, chuckling softly as the two ladies giggled.

“Oh, Cousin Homer Lee, you say the nicest things. I declare, I just can’t for the life of me understand why you all haven’t married in all these years. Can you, Mamie?”

“Ah, the joys of wedded bliss I fear have escaped me,” Cousin Homer crooned. “Had I met a young lady with half the charm and beauty of either of my two favorite cousins, no doubt I would today be engulfed in a sea of happy grandchildren.”