The Waltons 1 (9 page)

“Fine ladies,” Grandpa said a little mushily. “Fine ladies.”

A low growl came from the car’s self-starter. There was silence and then the growl came again. This time it continued, growing weaker and weaker until it was almost inaudible.

John-Boy’s heart sank. They were already late for supper. If the Baldwin sisters’ car didn’t start it would mean another half hour of fooling around to make it run. That might make it impossible for him to go to Jenny’s house tonight.

The starter gave two more feeble grunts and then was silent.

“It’s no use, Homer,” Grandpa called. “Sounds to me like the battery’s dead.”

Miss Emily’s head came out a window. “Are you sure we’ve got gasoline?”

Miss Mamie’s head came out the other window. “We can use the Recipe if there’s no gas. Papa used to use it all the time.”

“Trouble’s with the battery, Miss Mamie,” Grandpa said. “I’m afraid she’s not goin’ anywheres tonight.”

John-Boy followed Grandpa into the garage, feeling a dark premonition about what was going to happen. From the moment they had carried that mason jar into the parlor, he knew the day was going to have a bad ending.

“Oh dear,” Miss Emily said as they all got out of the car, “I just wish the idea had never come up. I had my heart set on seein’ a movin’-picture show.”

“I did too,” Miss Mamie echoed. “I just can hardly believe that actors talk and sing right out loud.”

John-Boy winced as Grandpa smiled and gestured gallantly toward the truck. “There’s nothin’ to worry about, ladies. You’re goin’ to Charlottesville after all.”

“Oh, Mr. Walton, we couldn’t!”

Miss Emily studied the truck for a second and smiled happily. “Yes, we can, Mamie. There’s plenty of room if Cousin Homer and Mr. Walton ride in the back.”

“Grandpa,” John-Boy protested, “they’re expectin’ us at home!”

It was no use. Grandpa was already escorting the ladies to the truck. “And home we’ll be,” he said. “Just a little late, John-Boy.”

“Isn’t this a treat?” Miss Emily said.

“Yes, you can always depend on the Walton men!”

Grandpa climbed into the back of the truck and John-Boy trudged resignedly toward the cab. It seemed that every time he was around the Baldwin sisters he was trapped into doing something he didn’t want to do. He wondered if he would ever have the courage to refuse them.

“Haven’t changed your mind, have you, Cousin Homer?” Grandpa called out.

Cousin Homer was still standing in the garage as if uncertain about the change in plans. He suddenly reached into the back seat of the Baldwins’ car and brought out an old suitcase. “Certainly not,” he said and carried the bag to the truck. “You don’t mind if I drop this off in town, do you? It’s just some dirty laundry.”

There was a definite clinking sound as he swung the heavy bag up to the truck bed. Laundry? John-Boy stared for a minute, but Cousin Homer smiled and waved them on.

“Let’s go, John-Boy, we don’t want to be late.”

The movie was Billy-Jack Bibb in
Rhythm of the Rockies,
and John-Boy might have enjoyed it under different circumstances. His first preoccupation was his mother’s concern and the worry she would be experiencing when he and grandpa didn’t come home. Then his thoughts turned to Jenny Pendleton and grim speculations about what she would think when he didn’t show up at her house. For John-Boy the movie seemed endless, and each time Billy-Jack Bibb picked up his guitar and began singing he slouched deeper and more miserably into his seat.

Next to him, Grandpa and the Baldwin sisters enjoyed it thoroughly. The ladies oohed and aahed at the Rocky Mountain scenery, and gleefully sang along with Billy-Jack and his guitar, while Grandpa grunted his approval or shouted warnings to Billy-Jack when the villain was approaching.

Cousin Homer Lee Baldwin didn’t go to the movie. When they arrived at the theater he groaned and shook his head, saying he’d already seen the picture three times. But he insisted they all go on in, and he’d find something to do in town and be back when the picture was over. He also insisted on paying the admission for all four of them, and then he walked off carrying his suitcase.

John-Boy wondered if it was all worth it. He had earned three dollars so far. But it would be impossible to earn twenty dollars from the Baldwin sisters without his mother finding out where he went every day. And how many more times would he end up in movie theaters, or maybe off in Richmond if Cousin Homer Lee and the ladies drank more of that Recipe?

The picture finally came to an end. Grandpa and the Baldwin sisters stood up and clapped as if expecting the actors to walk out on the stage and take bows. Then the lights came on and they filed slowly up the aisle with the other patrons.

“I declare, I never saw the likes of it in all my life,” Miss Emily exclaimed. “And when he sang ‘Springtime in the Rockies’ I felt like that young man was singin’ the song just for me!”

“We must come back again, Emily. I don’t remember havin’ such a nice evenin’. Did you enjoy it, John-Boy?”

“It was very good, Miss Mamie.”

Cousin Homer was waiting in the lobby, and once they were in the truck and headed home, John-Boy heard every verse of “Springtime in the Rockies” four more times.

They dropped off Cousin Homer and the Baldwin sisters, and it was almost midnight when John-Boy finally stopped the truck in front of the barn and roused Grandpa. Every light in the house was ablaze, and Sheriff Bridges’s old Ford was parked in front of the house.

“They’ll never even see us, John-Boy,” Grandpa said. “We’ll just tiptoe through the back door and up the stairs.”

“I think it’s too late, Grandpa.”

“It’s never too late, son. Just follow me.”

John-Boy knew better. Reckless was barking happily, and the screen door at the back was already open, John-Boy’s father peering out.

“ ’Lo there, John,” Grandpa said. “Beautiful night, isn’t it.”

“Yes it is, Grandpa.”

Grandpa went through the door, and John-Boy glimpsed his father’s rueful smile as he followed him in.

“Kind of late, son.”

“I know, Daddy.”

The faces of those sitting at the kitchen table didn’t appear so amiable. His mother looked relieved, but her jaw quickly tightened. Sitting across from her, Sheriff Bridges was idly stirring coffee, watching through narrowed eyes, and Grandma was already on her feet, pointing toward the stairs.

“I’ll have a word with you, old man!”

Grandpa smiled at the Sheriff and surveyed the group as if pleased by the reception. “In due time, old woman. First, I’ll have a cup of coffee if there’s any made, Livvy.”

“It’s on the stove.”

“Fine. I’ll just serve myself, Livvy. No need for you to get up. You’re all up a little late for Sunday night, aren’t you?”

Grandpa’s airy manner was having no effect on the others. John-Boy slipped into a chair and glanced at Ep Bridges, wondering how long ago he had been called and where he might have searched for them. The Sheriff was smiling quietly at him.

“How you keepin’, John-Boy?”

“Fine and dandy, Sheriff.”

“Glad to hear that. You been over to Charlottesville lately?”

All eyes were on him now, with only Grandpa smiling, scooping sugar into his coffee. John-Boy nodded. “We was over there tonight. We . . . uh, saw a picture show.”

He saw his mother’s mouth open and close again.

“I was with the boy, Sheriff,” Grandpa said. “He’s been up to no mischief.”

“Y’all had yourselves a good time, huh?”

Grandpa grinned. “As a matter of fact we did. We—”

“With no thought of folks at home,” Grandma interrupted. “Ever’body worried sick about where you might be!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve had the Sheriff out lookin’ for us?”

John Walton’s quiet voice came from the end of the table. “We should have. But the Sheriff’s here on business of his own. John-Boy, your mother and I have been out lookin’ for you all night. Up to the Baldwin house and half-dozen other places. I hope you got a good story to tell us.”

John-Boy glanced at his mother, understanding now the cold fury of her expression. His father must have told her about his job with the Baldwin sisters. But at the moment the Sheriff concerned him more. Did his business have something to do with Jenny?

“Now just a minute,” Grandpa said. “Before anybody goes jumpin’ on the boy, I want it understood it was all my fault.”

“I coulda guessed that easy enough,” Grandma nodded. “We’re listenin’, old man.”

“Well, you see it was this way. The Baldwin sisters had their hearts set on goin’ to town and their car wasn’t workin’. So we took ’em in the truck. That’s all there is to it.”

Grandma shook her head. “One of ’em too young to be sowin’ wild oats and the other too old, but that don’t stop ’em. I just don’t know about these Walton men.”

“Son,” John Walton said, “if there’s been any wild-oat sowin’, maybe I’d better hear about it.”

“We just went to a picture show, Daddy.”

“Billy-Jack Bibb, the Croonin’ Cowhand.” Grandpa grinned.

John nodded. “Sheriff, you got some questions you want to ask these two?”

Sheriff Bridges was listening thoughtfully. Now he gave each of them a sharp glance. “I got word from the law in Charlottesville that somebody’s suspected of transportin’ bootleg whiskey in your truck. You know anythin’ about that?”

John-Boy’s heart jumped, but he said nothing, staring blankly at the Sheriff. A charge like that was ridiculous. They had taken the truck to the movies and come directly home.

His mother shook her head. “I’m surprised you’re both not in jail.”

“Is John-Boy goin’ to jail?”

The alarmed question came from the living room, and for the first time John-Boy saw the row of faces peering through the stairway posts. Elizabeth was on the verge of tears. “I don’t want John-Boy to go to jail,” she whimpered.

Livvy was instantly on her feet. “Back to bed! All of you, this instant!” She shooed them all up the stairs, then came back when she was certain they were gone.

“John-Boy,” his father said, “do you know anythin’ about any whiskey bein’ sold from my truck tonight?”

“No, Daddy, we were all at the picture show. All but Cousin Homer Lee. He—”

The recollection of the suitcase and the way it had clinked when Cousin Homer swung it up to the truck bed suddenly hit John-Boy. He swallowed hard and went on. “He . . . he didn’t go to the show.”

Sheriff Bridges’s eyes narrowed. “Would that be Cousin Homer Lee Baldwin from Buckin’ham County, John-Boy?”

“Yes, he’s visitin’ the Baldwin sisters.”

A half smile came to the sheriff’s face. “Oh-oh,” he said.

“What’s that mean?” John asked.

“That means things are startin’ to make a little sense around here.” Sheriff Bridges smiled. “Cousin Homer Lee Baldwin’s got a record that would stretch from here to Rockfish.”

“Good heavens!” Grandma cried. Grandpa was blinking at the Sheriff in total disbelief.

“Maybe we ought to say somethin’ to Miss Emily and Miss Mamie,” John-Boy said.

The Sheriff shook his head. “What I’d rather you do, son, is keep an eye on Fourth Cousin Homer Lee. We don’t have any solid evidence yet. The whiskey showed up at Daisy Burgess’s beauty parlor over in Charlottesville, but I don’t think we can pin it on Cousin Homer Lee unless we can catch him with some in his possession. Or sellin’ it.”

Olivia’s jaw had tightened again. “Sheriff, I’d just rather John-Boy wouldn’t be spendin’ so much time at the Baldwins’.”

“I see your point, Livvy. But I’d appreciate it if you’d change your mind. I know you wouldn’t like to see that Recipe of the Baldwins bein’ sold all over the county.”

Olivia gazed despairingly at the Sheriff for a minute, then turned to John. The dilemma was beyond her.

“The boy knows how to take care of himself, Livvy,” John said.

“Hangin’ around over there. Next thing you know he’ll be drinkin’ whiskey!”

“I won’t drink any whiskey, Mama,” John-Boy protested.

“You just keep an eye open, John-Boy,” Sheriff Bridges said. “First sign of any funny business, you call me on the telephone.”

“We haven’t got a telephone, Sheriff. I never used one.”

The Sheriff got his hat. “Ike’s got one down at the store. If you have any trouble, he’ll show you how to use it.”

Grandma was on her feet the minute the door closed behind the Sheriff. Grandpa got up slowly and followed after her. “You ought to see that picture, old woman,” he said as they headed up the stairs. “That Billy-Jack Bibb can really sing a song.” Grandma’s answer was lost behind the bang of a door.

In the silence John-Boy looked over at his mother. She looked weary, but her expression had softened.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I tried to come home. And I promise I won’t go near any of that whiskey.”

For a minute he thought she was going to cry. But then she smiled gently and put her hand on his father’s. “I know you won’t, John-Boy.”

“Better go on up to bed, son,” his father said.

“Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Mama.”

John-Boy headed for his room but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Did anythin’ happen around here this afternoon?” he asked, “Or around suppertime?”

“No,” his father said. “You expectin’ somethin’ to happen?”

“No,” John-Boy said. “Goodnight.”

It was silly to expect Jenny to come over to his house, he thought as he put on his pajamas. He really hadn’t promised that he would visit her after supper. He’d said he would try. But she would have been expecting him. And when he didn’t show up it would certainly indicate that he hadn’t tried very hard.

John-Boy slid under the covers and sighed deeply. And what would he tell her tomorrow? That he couldn’t come because he went to a picture show with the Baldwin sisters? On the other hand, he reflected, there was now an element of romance attached to his working for the Baldwin sisters. He was on a special assignment for Sheriff Ep Bridges. He smiled at the idea, but then quickly dismissed it. Keeping an eye on Cousin Homer Lee Baldwin didn’t exactly make him a high-level secret agent. And telling Jenny Pendleton such a thing was likely to prompt laughter rather than admiration.