Eden Hill (26 page)

All in good time, thought Virgil. The work had started later than expected, partly because the rain had been relentless for the last several days, drenching everyone’s spirits as well as the soggy ground, but mostly because his excavator wanted money up front. His trip to the bank had provided a line of credit sufficient for the improvements, along with an offer of a shiny automatic toaster for Mavine if he opened a new savings account. Business was always slow in the summer, so it was excellent timing. Vee was itching to play baseball with his friends, but he’d have plenty of time for that after the work was done.

The Zipco station was never far from his mind, he had to admit. Cornelius had gained several customers over the past week alone, including several farmers from the area. He had a sign advertising a special sale on tires for pickup trucks
 
—10 percent off and free mounting
 
—which must have contributed to his increased business. The price of gasoline hadn’t changed since sometime in May, which was a relief, but familiar cars were often filling their tanks there instead of at Osgood’s. Some of their owners were even going inside
and coming out with coffee mugs and road maps. Cornelius, dressed in his snappy uniform and fancy hat, smiled and waved, speaking with each customer as they did business.

Mr. Willett kept his promise and brought over Virgil’s own uniform, which Mavine had stored in the upstairs closet until needed. As promised, it fit, but barely. Welby had said that the name on his work shirt was uniform enough, and Virgil had to agree. Welby could change eight quarts of oil in a white shirt and still keep it clean enough to wear to church on Sunday.

Mr. Willett had also asked about Mrs. Crutcher’s car. He’d flinched a bit at the price Virgil quoted but had come back a second time to look it over. So far, he was the only potential buyer, but Virgil was in no hurry. He’d just be glad when this whole renovation thing was over and he could get back to fishing.

Everything else was going smoothly. The man from the junkyard had bought the VW for twenty dollars and even hauled it away. It meant Ticky wouldn’t have a doghouse anymore, but since the pups were born she’d been sleeping under their front porch anyway. Arlie had taken to stopping in again and reclaimed his old Army surplus truck, even if the engine was shot and Virgil couldn’t get the parts to fix it. He and Frank had pulled it home with the John Deere.

By late June, the ground had been cleared, the hole was dug and the pipes laid, and the new ladies’ restroom was complete. Even Mavine and Alma were impressed. Osgood’s smelled of fresh paint, its white outside walls contrasting against the red gutters and blue window trim. It even had a
new screen door, with hinges that didn’t squeak anymore and a handle with a latch. Mavine had planted marigolds and zinnias in a couple of old tires, placed them on each side of the garage door, and had used some leftover white paint to give them extra gloss. When the time came, Virgil would be ready.

Mavine seemed proud of him, but Welby just shook his head.

J
O
A
NN
A
LEXANDER
had just put Suzy to bed for her nap when Cornelius returned after lunch. “So,” she said, “did
anybody
come by today?”

“I’ll say! I have a new customer, a real estate attorney from Quincy who had come to appraise the house where Madeline Crutcher lived. We filled his tank and sold him a radiator flush on Monday. A
Cadillac
, JoAnn! It’s going to work, just like I told you it would!”

She stroked her daughter’s fine hair, waiting for Suzy to close her eyes and fall asleep. “Really. What about this? It came in today’s mail.” She handed him an already-opened letter from the Zanesville International Petroleum Company,
on very official stationery, and provided a summary of its contents. The gist was that if a certain payment were not made by the end of July, foreclosure proceedings would begin.

“Hang on to that lawyer
 
—you may need him.” She thrust the letter into his hand. “I didn’t sign up for this, and neither did Suzy!” And with that, she kissed the baby on the forehead and went to her bedroom, crying.

Just when things seemed to be getting better. His relationship with his wife had been on the upswing, almost like it had been when they married. But what goes up . . .

Cornelius started to say something in defense but thought better of it and looked at the letter instead. It was signed “Regrettably yours” by the president and chief executive officer of Zipco in large scrawling script. He recognized the name immediately: the same man he’d defeated in a pool game a few months before.

Everything was ready for the Osgoods’ big day. The floors were scrubbed and shining, the paint job looked cheerful and inviting, and the new toilet was installed in the restroom and working as it should. Mavine had placed little American flags in the planters to go with the zinnias and marigolds; red, white, and blue crepe paper was hung from the newly guttered eaves; and the garage floor was swept clean. Virgil’s line of credit was also brushed bare, so new equipment had been out of the question. Welby had installed a new lightbulb
in the globe on the gasoline pump and oiled the bearings on the shop fan so it wouldn’t squeak. Even Ticky had gotten into the work, wagging her tail as Virgil finished the final touches to the screen door.

Mavine’s remodeling suggestion had led to a beautiful ladies’ room but had left Virgil without an office. He’d had the telephone moved to the front counter and had ordered a cash register to replace the tin box with the broken hasp. Even the Nabs rack had been updated, with the new “gourmet cheese” crackers replacing the rye crisps.

“We’re ready,” he said.

“We’re ready,” she said.

“Can I play baseball with Frank now?” Vee said.

The folding price sign was carried in, the tire display was rolled in, the lights were turned out, and the door was locked.

Tomorrow morning, Osgood’s would be ready to go head-to-head with Zipco.

A crying woman is not something most men are prepared to handle, and Cornelius Alexander was no exception. With JoAnn in the bedroom sobbing, and Suzy off to dreamland, he was desperately trying to think. He could make the required payment, but it might mean letting Charlie go, or at least cutting his wages or hours.

The Stacys had been very kind, as had Reverend Caudill, and he was beginning to like Eden Hill. He’d also made friends with several of the farmers in the area and would hate
to start over somewhere else. But one more blow might just bankrupt him, and he’d still be left owing most of the note.

He read the letter again, and the truth began to sink in. He’d been had
 
—taken for a fool. He couldn’t deceive himself any longer.

And JoAnn’s remark about the lawyer? Was that an encouragement to face up to Zipco or a divorce threat? Or both?

Failure was now a bitter possibility, one that he’d never prepared for. He could not let that happen. He couldn’t.

So he did the only logical thing. He kissed Suzy on the forehead and cried himself.

The Fourth of July began with sunny skies and warm air. Birds were singing, interrupted occasionally by the chug of Arlie’s John Deere and the occasional firecracker.

The Osgoods were excited about the grand reopening, which had been the focus of their lives for the last six weeks. Except for Vee, of course, who wanted to either sleep in or set off fireworks with Frank. He was needed at Osgood’s, however, so Mavine had fixed their usual breakfast spread at six o’clock so the service station could open its doors at six thirty.

Virgil’s uniform was pressed and ready. After the alterations and adjustments by Mr. Willett, Mavine had sent it to the dry cleaner, who had done a wonderful job getting it as sharp looking as possible.

At seven o’clock on the dot, the lights were turned on and the new and improved Osgood’s was open for business. Mavine had baked sugar cookies for the occasion, and Vee had received strict instructions to stay away from the platter. The red, white, and blue sprinkles were her own special touch. Virgil looked them over for mysterious ingredients, but they appeared to be at least edible.

Across the top of the door she hung another sign at Vee’s suggestion. It proclaimed
Osgood’s Super Service
in bold black letters, a fitting addition to the rest of the decor.

Virgil himself was resplendent in his uniform. His private first class stripe had lost a bit of its zing over the years but was still prominently featured on his shoulder. Mavine had polished his discharge pin to a glorious finish and fastened it prominently on the breast pocket. The dress hat, with its eagle medallion, still fit perfectly. Virgil hadn’t worn it since ’45, but Mavine had kept it in a box at the top of the wardrobe
 
—just in case. The only part of his attire not government issue was his shoes, oil-resistant and freshly shined with Kiwi.

Mavine had also made a sign on the back of one of Vee’s old school posters. It read
Remember WWII and the Veterans
in large red and blue script, and was clipped over the laughing Santa on the Reddy-Start sign and placed in the front.

Welby had already opened the doors and saluted as Virgil entered. “Ready for service . . . sir!” The mechanic’s own khakis closely matched Virgil’s uniform, as did his shoes, which were buffed to a shine.

Business was brisk as soon as the doors were open.
Arlie filled his truck’s tank and helped himself to Mavine’s all-American cookies. “Frank’s takin’ care of the chores, and I’m going fishin’. The crappie are bitin’ in spite of the heat.”

Mavine, wearing the blue dress she’d worn to her birthday dinner, was the perfect hostess. “Arlie, fish get hungry, even in the summer. Have another cookie, and please say hello to Lula Mae for us. And Darlene, too.”

Arlie grunted his assent, finished his cookie, and bought a package of Doublemint gum from the new display rack Virgil had installed just two days before. “Gotta chew on somethin’
 
—just ain’t fishin’ otherwise.”

As Arlie and his truck pulled out, his boat bouncing behind, Reverend Caudill came by. “Just stopping in for a visit. Looks like your grand event is going well.”

Virgil agreed. “Most of this was Mavine’s idea. Especially the flags and the sign about World War Two and the veterans.” He beamed and stood at attention. “The uniform was her idea too, but I picked the paint for the outside.”

Reverend Caudill smiled, wished them well, and tipped his own hat in leaving. Mavine offered another cookie and gestured toward the rear of the station. “We even have a fresh, clean restroom. Sorry
 
—ladies only. Please tell the women of the church to come by.”

Several other customers visited in quick succession. Several regulars, on their way to picnics and celebrations, filled their tanks. A couple of drivers had their oil changed. One woman slammed on her brakes and pulled straight up to the garage. “I saw the sign and the man’s uniform and knew
immediately what I had to do,” she said. Welby fixed her up with four new whitewall tires. And to Mavine’s delight, she visited the new ladies’ room.

One customer stopped in twice: once to fill his tank and a second time to buy antifreeze. He saw Welby’s barber chair and promised to come back next week for a haircut.

Patriotism ran deep in Eden Hill, and by early afternoon Virgil had served over thirty customers for fuel, three for oil changes, and several for snacks or cold drinks. Welby had installed two full sets of tires, fixed a flat, and scheduled two tune-ups. Mavine had returned to the kitchen to make more batches of cookies, and Vee Junior had wandered off with Frank to blow things up.

One other visitor had come by. Mr. Willett purchased the Buick for the full asking price in cash. He also complimented Virgil on the fine fit and look of his uniform, and took much of the credit.

Cornelius opened the Zipco on schedule after a night sleeping on the threadbare couch in their tiny living room, and couldn’t believe what he saw at Osgood’s. The steady stream of traffic mocked the lack of business at the Zipco. By noon he’d sold six dollars’ worth of gasoline, all premium, a Royal Crown Cola from the cooler case, and two packs of cigarettes from the vending machine. After lunch by himself
 
—JoAnn wouldn’t come out of the bedroom
 
—he lowered the cost of his gasoline by one cent per gallon to undersell Virgil. He
didn’t bother to check with Zipco first; that didn’t seem to matter much anymore.