Eden Hill (32 page)

V
IRGIL LEFT EARLY
to get caught up at Osgood’s, but Mavine was pleased to make a full breakfast for the Alexanders. The events of the last twenty-four hours had been difficult for everyone, but Cornelius and JoAnn said they and Suzy had slept well and were more than grateful for all the hospitality. Vee, who’d been happy to sleep in the living room, was more alert than usual given the early hour and was fascinated by Suzy, who again lay quietly in Virgil’s La-Z-Boy.

“Thank you so much, Mavine.” Cornelius took a sip of coffee. “We’ll be spending most of the day in Quincy talking with our insurance agent and won’t return to Eden Hill until later this afternoon. Charlie will handle everything at
the station while we’re gone. I hope that won’t be an inconvenience for you.”

“Not at all. If you can be back by six o’clock, we’re having pork chops for dinner and would love to have you join us.”

“It’d be a pleasure, Mavine. You’ve been such a blessing.” JoAnn collected the sleeping Suzy and they left, well-fed and grateful.

Virgil returned to work after lunch with a solemn promise to Mavine to return by six for dinner. The Alexanders would be back by then, she said, and dinner would be done and coming out of the oven.

The auction of the old Crutcher place and funeral home was today, so traffic was the busiest he’d seen in quite some time. He’d had several customers in the morning, and several more customers came by in the afternoon. Two were coming home from the auction, and another was on his way back to Quincy from a couple of days’ vacation. Welby would get home late this evening, he reminded himself. Hopefully he’d had a good visit with his family.

The parts man did not arrive until almost four thirty. “Bad traffic, there was an estate sale or something,” he’d said. Luckily the replacement muffler was the correct part, and came with replacement mounting gaskets and clamps. Virgil checked the tags, signed for the items, and sat down in Welby’s barber chair.

It had been a good day, a good weekend, and a good
week, though he’d like to have the Fourth of July back; the grand reopening had been a bit too much. Actually, the floor had needed painting for a long time, the gutters needed fixing anyway, and sooner or later he would have wanted a ladies’ room in the station. Now to get that muffler fixed. The Nash needed to be on sale by tomorrow, and it couldn’t if it growled like a bear.

He found a couple of wrenches and Welby’s creeper, and slid under the car, already perched on the work jacks. He had to slide back out to get the work light so he could see what he was doing, but that was no big problem. It looked like a fairly easy fix; he wouldn’t even have to use the welder. He’d be home in plenty of time for Mavine’s pork chops and sweet potatoes.

He positioned himself under the front clamp and adjusted the light. The rust was heavy, and the wrench slipped off on the first try, skinning his knuckles. He fitted the end of the box wrench on the stubborn nut and tried again. Nothing moved, and the wrench slipped, banging his wrist against the frame. The third time is a charm, he thought. He positioned the tool again and gave it a mighty heave.

Everything moved, including the Nash. The front jack stand tipped, buckled, and gave way, and the car fell to the garage floor.

Unfortunately, that fall was broken by Virgil, whose chest was under the oil pan. The creeper cracked and splintered, its wheels rolling out in four directions, leaving Virgil pinned.

And alone.

Mavine had allowed Vee to visit Frank again after breakfast, and he’d stayed for lunch at the Prewitt farm. He had returned sufficiently early to escape punishment, so the collected works of Washington Irving could stay on the shelf. To the best of Mavine’s knowledge, nothing had exploded or been run over by Arlie’s truck. It was starting to look like rain by late afternoon, so perhaps baseball had been less inviting. At any rate, he was home, and none the worse for his afternoon on parole.

Mavine had spent the afternoon working on the gift for Suzy. She’d set up the old Singer, hoping to catch up on a few other tasks as well, but the baby quilt had been her focus. It was something she wanted to do, a little token, perhaps, but might make up somewhat for all the grief she’d caused. She stopped only to peel the sweet potatoes and put the chops out to thaw, and then returned to her work.

It wasn’t a quilt really, but it was a very nice light blanket that would keep Suzy warm in the fall. She’d outgrow it, of course, and she was probably too young to appreciate the material or the work; even the red roses would probably be lost on her. But she hoped it would mean something to JoAnn. Mavine found some material from an unused bedsheet to use for a liner, and fixed it so that the little embroidered flowers would be in front when it was folded. Pretty.

She and Virgil would start anew with Cornelius and JoAnn.

As Mavine clipped the excess thread from the last stitch,
she looked at the clock. Time to get the potatoes boiling, get Vee cleaned up, and start Mr. Johnson’s beans cooking. Virgil would be home in time for supper. He’d promised.

At six o’clock, the beans were steaming, the biscuits were cut and ready for the oven, and the main dish was cooling on the top of the stove. She’d thought about making an apple pie but was out of brown sugar. Besides, it would take too long, and she would need the oven for the biscuits.

JoAnn returned and related a disappointing day in Quincy. The insurance adjuster had been sympathetic, but the premium on their policy hadn’t been paid in time, and as much as he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do. At least he’d been kind enough to take them to lunch. JoAnn offered to help with dinner, but Mavine sent her upstairs with Suzy. Cornelius had stopped at his own service station to check on Charlie and to tidy up.

By 6:15, there was still no sign of Virgil. Vee had washed his hands and curled up on the couch with his book. He’d turned the television on to see if there was anything of interest but quickly grew weary of both Huntley and Brinkley. The other station was also running the news, so he quickly gave up.

“Mom, do you want me to go get Dad?”

“Not yet. He was working on Mr. Willett’s car this afternoon and should be here any minute.”

Vee returned to
The Sign of the Four
, and Mavine pulled out her cutting board. If she wasn’t going to bake a pie, the apples would make a nice salad.

By 6:30, Cornelius had arrived, but Virgil had not.
Mavine frowned and put the chops back in the oven with the heat turned low. This wasn’t like him. Sure, he’d been late before, but he’d always called to let her know.

As it neared 6:45, Mavine was hurt and angry. At least he could let them know he was delayed. He was spoiling everyone’s supper. Virgil was usually a man of his word, but he’d really failed this time. She stomped to the telephone and called Osgood’s, something she rarely did.

It rang nine times. No answer.

It was now seven o’clock and the beans were cold and Mavine was hot. Where could the man be? His car was in its usual spot
 
—she could make it out through the trees. Maybe Welby had come back early and they’d gone somewhere, or perhaps Arlie had stopped in. He’d often said that fish bite well right around a good rain. And Virgil kept his tackle box in the back of the shop. And after all those good things he’d said at lunch. So she’d just have to go down there; that was all there was to it.

“Mom, do you need
 
—?”

“No, I’m going myself!”

She marched down the hill and flung open the door to the garage. “Virgil!” she yelled, expecting no answer.

She heard a small gurgle from under the Nash Metropolitan, which was sitting at a funny tilt. Then she saw a wheel from the creeper in the middle of the floor with a splinter of wood attached, and finally Virgil’s legs, poking out from under the side.

“Virgil!”

And she did what she had to do.

When the ambulance driver arrived, Virgil was on the floor by the workbench, where Mavine had dragged him. The Nash pointed at a crazy angle toward the tire rack. Tools, equipment, and muffler parts were scattered across the floor. Mavine was cradling Virgil’s head and talking quietly. He was whispering to her, saying something about being sorry he ruined their dinner.

Mavine’s arms and back were strained, and when the ambulance attendants asked if she was all right, she admitted her knees and hips hurt as well. Vee and Cornelius had joined them; they’d heard Mavine scream and had run down to see what was happening.

After looking Virgil over, the attendants decided that he needed to go to the hospital and get checked out, so they eased him onto a stretcher and carried him outside. He was talking, but with difficulty, and had a nasty bruise on his chest, but his back and neck seemed to be uninjured. He held up a thumb before disappearing into the red-and-white ambulance.

“Mavine, I’m so sorry this happened,” he croaked. “I love you!”

Reverend Caudill answered the telephone on the first ring. He’d stopped into his office to place some buckets in case the rain didn’t hold off, and wasn’t expecting the call. On the other end of the line was an extremely excited man.

“Praise the Lord, he’s given us the miracle. And before
next Sunday, too.” The Pentecostal preacher may as well have been speaking in tongues, as Reverend Caudill couldn’t make out a word he was saying.