Eden Hill (11 page)

But then again Mac was also on his third marriage. One for each station, it seemed. But was there any wisdom in his words?

And more frightening still, was there a connection between a bankrupt business and a marriage on the rocks? No, he couldn’t let it happen. He just couldn’t.

Welby came back in through the side door, closing it quickly behind him. He was grinning, as usual, and whistling a catchy tune. Virgil was waiting, and not smiling.

“Was that who I think it was?”

The mechanic walked toward the Warm Morning stove in the corner of the garage and rubbed his hands together over the front. “Cornelius Alexander, if that’s who you mean. Nice fellow.”

“What was he doing over here? Sneaking around?”

“He had a question, and I gave him an answer. That’s all. And, no, he wasn’t sneaking anywhere.”

Virgil hesitated. “Welby, I’m concerned about the competition the Zipco will bring, and the last thing I need is to have him poking around Osgood’s.”

“And I’m concerned about you, Virgil.” He poured two cups of coffee from the big percolator and handed one to Virgil. “You’ve always been good-natured and easygoing. Not
much ever got you excited or worried. But lately you seem to be obsessed by this Zipco thing. You’re unraveling like a bad fan belt.”

“But I have to be worried. My friend Mac says . . .”

“I’m not worried about what Mac or anybody else says. You’re letting yourself get worked up over somebody else’s experience, somebody else’s reaction. Relax, Virgil. You’re better than that.”

Welby’s words were deceptively calm but had the ring of truth. Deep truth. The trouble was, he wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet, anyway.

But he trusted his friend and mechanic. Welby had been through more than he had in life, and knew him better than anyone except Mavine. If Welby said he was going overboard with this competition thing, he was probably right. But still . . .

“Welby, I just need to know that you’re with me in this. That you’re on my team.”

Welby smiled, with a little bit of a wink. “I’m with you more than you know.”

After two greasy biscuits and a quick telephone call to JoAnn, Cornelius locked the door of the Zipco and walked the two blocks across town.

Ray’s Farm Equipment Sales and Service consisted of little more than a wooden barn and a cluttered, weed-filled lot scattered with tractors, hay balers, and various other agricultural
machines. Ray’s advertised,
We service all brands
, and the varieties littering the yard seemed to prove it. He should have thought of this before
 
—not much difference between a car and a tractor. They both had tires, an engine, and needed mechanics.

Nobody was at the counter, but he could hear voices coming from a room in the back. The door was ajar, so he walked in to find several young men gathered, all dressed in work shirts. A game of pool was in full swing on a large, rickety table.

He watched for a few seconds and approached the nearest chap. “Who’s your best man?” he asked. The fellow pointed to a lanky player who, with cue in hand, was about to place the number four ball in the side pocket. “That’s Charlie . . . He’s the best one here.”

Cornelius introduced himself to the player, a likable fellow about his own age. “Charlie,” he said, “I’m prepared to make you an exciting offer to get in on the ground floor of something big. Let’s chat over a friendly game. A bet of, say, five dollars?”

Two hours later, Cornelius returned to his makeshift office a very happy Zipco owner. He was five dollars poorer but had found his half-inch bolt and had hired his new mechanic. He hadn’t bothered to say the Zipco station was behind schedule; it didn’t seem necessary. Charlie would be starting in three weeks
 
—well before the grand opening. And he’d gotten him for much less than what he thought he’d have to pay.

Across the street at Osgood’s, Virgil was positioning a jack under the rear of Madeline Crutcher’s Buick when Arlie’s farmhand poked his head in the doorway. “Is Welby here?”

“What can I do for you, Charlie?” Welby said as he walked out from the storeroom with a brake cylinder.

Charlie took his hat off and scratched at his head. “Well, turns out I need to learn something about engines.”

Virgil placed the wheel in the corner. “Arlie got you working on his tractors now?”

“It’s not Mr. Prewitt. He works me hard, but he’s been good to me. Strangest thing, I stopped in at Ray’s for a couple rounds of eight ball with the boys, and some guy comes in, asks who’s best, loses five bucks to me, and then offers me a job fixing cars. Don’t quite get it, but I’m not about to argue.”

Virgil felt the blood rise to his face, and he started to say a few choice words when Welby cut him off with a chuckle. “Sure, Charlie. I’ll get you started with the basics.”

Sunday morning had turned to midday, the organist had finally finished her postlude, and Reverend Caudill stood at the back of the sanctuary to greet his congregation and offer his personal benediction. The crowd was smaller than usual; the bitter cold had no doubt kept some of his parishioners at home. Unfortunately, Madeline Crutcher was not one of them.

Grover Stacy took the pastor’s hand in both of his, his whole face animated and beaming. “I don’t know what’s
gotten into you, Reverend, but you’ve been in fine form lately. There are probably some who expect to be shouted at, but I’m getting a lot more out of your sermons. Really forward thinking. I’ve got some things to chew on over the next few days.” He pumped the handshake one last time, then slipped out, as Anna Belle was pulling him by the sleeve. Reverend Caudill was delighted, but perplexed. He’d never heard such effusions from anyone, let alone Grover.

But the warm glow didn’t last, as a familiar and irate voice rose from the nearly empty sanctuary. The reverend turned to see Madeline Crutcher shuffling toward him, eyes wide and piercing. She’d apparently waited in her usual seat until the church had emptied so she could lash out with as much force and vigor as her age and stature could muster. Instinctively, he took a step backward.

The old woman lit into him while she was still on the move. “Some people may enjoy this little fireside talk you call preaching, but I say it’s coddling. Nothing but pablum, I tell you! We need the power of the gospel, Pastor, not some namby-pamby drivel. You’ll be hearing from me tomorrow.”

Without waiting for a response
 
—not even expecting one, surely
 
—the woman strode out the door and down the steps toward her Buick. Midway to the car she turned. “And don’t think others don’t feel the same way I do.”

Well. Reverend Caudill’s shoulders slumped a bit as he moved to turn off the lights and noticed that Virgil Osgood was still in the sanctuary, picking up stray bulletins and a few peppermint wrappers from the pews.

Virgil scratched at the back of his neck as he approached,
then looked out toward the receding Buick even as he addressed the pastor. “I don’t quite know what pablum is, but I seem to recall someplace in the Bible
 
—don’t remember where exactly
 
—when an earthquake was quiet and God’s whisper came through loud and clear. Me, I like this new style. Makes the Bible seem more personal and meaningful, not so long ago and far away. Mavine feels the same way, and so does Vee. So whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” He dropped the church’s leavings into the wastebasket by the rear doors and stepped through them.

And Eugene Caudill gave thanks to God for simple encouragements
 
—a warm gift on a cold day. And for the challenges? Well. Harder, but he’d certainly try.

M
AVINE ARRIVED RIGHT ON TIME
for her appointment at the Glamour Nook on Friday afternoon and was surprised to find the Closed sign still hanging in the window. The door was unlocked, so she peeked inside. Nobody was there. “Gladys?”

“Mavine?” The voice came from back in the kitchen. “I’ll be right there. Sorry, I canceled my earlier appointments and forgot you and Alma were coming this afternoon.”

“I can come back later . . .”

“No, no, I’m just . . . getting some things together. Come on in and have a seat. I’ve added some more magazines to the table.”

“I’ll be right here when you’re ready. No hurry.”

Mavine hung her coat on the hook next to the Nook’s growing display. For years, Gladys had decorated her salon with various interesting items from around the world. After the holidays, she’d taken down the candles and the little German figurines, replacing them with her usual bulletin board covered with exotic postcards. Mavine paused to admire the colorful one from Mexico and the shiny new souvenir folder from the Seattle World’s Fair before choosing a magazine and climbing into the swivel chair by the shampoo bowl.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Shuffling sounds were heard, along with drawers opening and closing.

Curious, she thought. Gladys had always been ready and waiting when she arrived, eager in her pink cotton uniform and matching smock with the little happy scissors sewn next to her name. This afternoon Gladys seemed to be busy about something she didn’t want Mavine to see. Suddenly it occurred to her: Of course! Her birthday was coming, and Gladys had something special planned!

Mavine was surprised when Gladys appeared a couple of minutes later, still in her housecoat. “I’m sorry
 
—I’m not really myself today. You want your usual hairdo?”

“Uh . . . sure.” Maybe this wasn’t a birthday surprise after all. Hoping her disappointment didn’t show, she climbed into the chair. “But can you tease it up a little more on top?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Gladys made ready, pulling pink bottles from a shelf next to the sink and placing various scissors and combs into a
plastic tray. She fumbled for something, dropped it with a clatter, and groaned.

Mavine looked up, and for the first time saw her friend’s face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and Avon was smeared down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking. No, certainly not a celebration.

“Are you all right, Gladys? We can do this another time.”

“I’m fine, it’s . . . I’ve not had a good day, that’s all.”

Something was definitely wrong. Maybe she and Tom had had a fight. Whatever it was, Gladys probably wouldn’t tell. Her fingers seemed to relax as they worked her scalp, and Gladys seemed noticeably calmer now.

“How’s Virgil doing?”

Mavine relaxed as well. “Just fine, Gladys. He’s looking forward to spring, just like everybody else in town. He and Welby are already talking about going to the lake. How’s Tom?”

“Couldn’t be better. He’s working security at the basketball game in Quincy tonight.” Gladys’s hands seemed steadier, which was a relief since they now held a pair of scissors. “He’ll also be adding some additional hours this spring as part-time game warden.”

“That sounds wonderful, Gladys.” Well, it didn’t seem like a problem with Tom. Maybe just a bad time. She wondered if the beautician had ever tried Cardui elixir, which had always helped her during those dates she circled on the calendar each month. Soon they were finished, hairpins and curlers were inserted without incident, and she was ready for the dryer.

With a knock on the door, Alma arrived, right on schedule. Greetings were exchanged, and Alma took her place in Gladys’s beauty chair. Mavine moved to the dryer, tipped the hood down, and set the timer. An article on Natalie Wood from an April
Photoplay
had captured her attention, and with luck she’d have time to finish it while her hairdo set.

The dryer shut off just as Mavine finished the magazine piece
 
—she was quite surprised to read that Natalie and Robert Wagner had divorced. She’d gotten rather absorbed in the scandalous romantic details and slowly became aware of the conversation in the room.

Without the rushing noise from the dryer, she could hear Alma talking gently and Gladys sobbing. They had moved to two of the waiting room chairs, and Alma was holding the beautician’s hand.

Mavine lifted the hood of the dryer chair and joined the two women. She sat and grasped Gladys’s other hand. Gladys clasped Mavine’s hand tightly.

“There, there. Why don’t you just tell us about it?” Alma was digging in her purse and produced a small package wrapped in cellophane. “It’s okay, Gladys, whatever it is. It’s just us. We’re your friends.”

“It’s hard for me, and you may think it’s silly.” She took several of the offered tissues and drew a deep breath.

“I always thought of her as my Depression baby,” Gladys began. “I never did feel as guilty as Mama wanted me to, since I did it for my family in the first place. Right before the war began, I was working at the soda fountain at the old Rexall drugstore in Quincy. You remember, Mavine?”

She nodded, but clearly Gladys was about to reveal something she’d never known. The beautician clutched her hand even tighter.

“Papa had died the year before, and then Mama lost her job at the switchboard. Everybody was saying the Depression was over, but that sure wasn’t true for our family. We were dirt poor. My father had a hard time finding work. The grocery he started was barely making it, and the family had to run it after he passed. Mama was never happy again after that.”

Mavine wasn’t sure what to do next and felt bad. Gladys was clearly hurting, and she’d been blind to her pain. Had been too involved in a silly magazine article to even notice. So she did something she hadn’t expected. She prayed. She didn’t even know what to say, so she just reached out in her own mind and wordlessly asked the Almighty to come close.

Gladys continued. “I was pretty naive back then. One afternoon a young man I’d never seen before came into the soda fountain, and he took a shine to me. He said he was on his way home to Louisiana from a college up north somewhere and had stopped in for a chocolate malted. He promised me five dollars and a ride in his Ford roadster, so I agreed. We drove to a place in the country where there was a barn and straw, and he gave me the money on the way back. I took it home and gave it to Mama to pay the rent. It was a long time before I understood why Mama was so angry and called me such awful names. Before long I began to show, and Mama sent me to Florida to live with my aunt Ellie. Nobody around here ever knew.”

Mavine’s head was whirling in amazement. Poor woman! Gladys had kept such a secret all these years, even from her closest friends.

“Several months later, the war was on, and she was born
 
—a seven-and-a-half-pound girl with blue eyes and a full head of beautiful curly blonde hair. Healthy and strong. Mama signed the adoption papers, and I came back to Eden Hill to finish school. I never saw the baby or her father again. Never even knew his name.”

Alma stroked Gladys’s shoulder and asked gently, “So what brought all of this up today? Did Tom say something?”

“No. I’ve never told Tom about it. And he’s gone until late tonight.”

“So what happened?”

Gladys couldn’t answer. Finally, with trembling hands she reached in the pocket of her robe and pulled out an envelope. “This came in the morning mail. I guess I always knew this day would come.”

Alma looked it over and showed it to Mavine. “Well, what does this have to do with you being all in a dither?”

“Look at the postmark. It’s from Florida. I understand they open the adoption records after a child reaches legal age. She was born twenty-one years ago last week.”

“So you’re afraid to open the envelope? Afraid it’s from your daughter?”

“Yes.” Gladys eagerly accepted a few more Kleenex that Alma found in her purse. She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m afraid she’ll hate me, I’m afraid I won’t be able to love her after what I’ve done, and I’m afraid Tom will leave me when he finds
out. That’s what George did when I told him. Said he didn’t want no ‘used woman.’” She spat the words and started sobbing again.

Mavine fought back tears and finally quit trying. All three women were crying. All these years she’d been a friend to Gladys, and she never knew the pain her friend had gone through, the suffering. But now she did, and it explained so many things. And her heart broke for her.

Gladys cried quietly for a couple more minutes before becoming calmer, Alma and Mavine stroking her arm and shoulder.

Alma squeezed her hand. “Honey, did I ever tell you about Danny?”

“No. Who’s . . . Danny?”

“Danny was our son. Welby and I wanted a child, but it just never quite happened. The doctors didn’t seem to know why, so we kept . . . trying. Finally, I conceived, and I was the happiest woman in the world. Welby was still working for Mr. H. C. Osgood then, and we felt we had a wonderful family life ahead of us. We’d picked names: Julia Marie for a girl and Daniel Welby for a boy.”

“When Danny was born, we knew right away something was wrong. He was all blue and quiet, and the nurses ran down the hallway with him. The doctors started giving me oxygen and a blood transfusion. I don’t remember too much right after that except the doctors had to do something to me, to save my life, that meant I could never have children again. Danny lived about two hours
 
—something about his lungs wasn’t right.

“He was a beautiful baby. We buried him with a little stuffed bear
 
—a gift from Mr. Osgood. How I loved
 
—and still love
 
—that child! And Welby did too
 
—it just broke his heart. Danny would have been twenty-nine this year. I often wonder what he’d be doing if he’d lived.”

Gladys began sobbing again.

“Oh, honey, I’m not trying to make you cry even more.”

“You still love Danny that much?”

“Oh yes. I’m not trying to be morbid or anything like that. I’m saying that, knowing how much I still love my departed Danny, I know you love your living daughter whose name you don’t even know, even if you gave her up twenty-one years ago. And I’ll bet she loves you too
 
—and so will Tom.”

“But what will Tom think of me?”

“Now don’t you worry about that. Tom loves you even more than you know. I’m a pretty good judge of such things. And I think he might just like to have a stepdaughter.”

Mavine sat quietly, her mind and emotions whirling. She’d heard words like this before, from the same woman who was comforting and ministering to her friend. She was overcome with love for her friend Gladys, who’d lived for over twenty years with a scandalous secret, and respect for Tom, who would no doubt love Gladys just the same.

And somehow, love for her own husband. Gladys’s dreams had been dashed even more than her own.

The room was silent for several minutes. The only sound was the wind around the storm windows. Finally, Gladys raised her head and dabbed away the last of the tears. “Alma, how can I thank you?”

Alma merely smiled in return. “Open the letter.”

Gladys slowly opened the envelope, her hands still shaking and Mavine now stroking her shoulder. Several items fell out, including a note:

Dear Gladys,

Having a wonderful time, wish you were here (ha ha). While we were in Panama City, we went by Aunt Ellie’s old house. They tore it down to build this hotel! Here are a couple of postcards for your collection
 
—didn’t want them to get beat up in the mail. Love to all. See you soon.

Your brother and sister-in-law,

Grover and Anna Belle

Gladys’s eyes were the size of saucers. Her mouth hung open for what seemed a full minute before she started laughing. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. They were all roaring with laughter. Glorious, blessed laughter.

Gladys gave Alma’s arm a playful slap. “You knew who that letter was from all along!”

“Honey, not that it matters, but I’d recognize Anna Belle’s handwriting anywhere. I’m surprised you didn’t. You know she’d never let your brother write a note all by himself!”

The three hugged and laughed until they were out of breath. Finally, Gladys spoke. “I guess I’d better see if I can put some curls on that wise head of yours, Alma.”

“Honey, it’s too late for that today. You just finish up with Mavine, and I’ll come by sometime next week. You say you’re by yourself for dinner?”

“Yes, Tom won’t be home until after eleven.”

“Why don’t you come over and have dinner with Welby and me? I’ve got pork tenderloin and homemade chess pie. Welby always says it’s the best he’s ever tasted.”

“I really can’t . . . Yes, I think I can. I’d love to.”