Genuine Sweet (24 page)

 

Your Gram

 

In a corner of the letter was a faint bit of silver where, I imagined, Gram's hand had lingered.

My gram was all right.

24

A
FEW MORNINGS LATER, I WAS ROUSED BY A KNOCK
on the front door. It was Travis.

“Come on,” he said.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Just come on.” He tugged at my arm.

It was so cold out, his words turned the air to smoke, so I left on my pajamas and put something more presentable over them. Then a coat. Then my boots.

“All right, now! What?” I demanded as I followed him out the door.

He grabbed me tight by the hand and led me downtown. When we got there, let me tell you, there was quite a hooray going on.

Penny Walton's car with the big
WALTON REAL ESTATE
magnets along the side sat parallel parked in front of two empty storefronts. Penny herself was looking a bit bedraggled, but she nodded eagerly as she sipped from a
HAM'S
coffee mug, Travis's pa speaking, well,
at
her is the best way to describe it. JoBeth Haines stood at Kip's side, apparently explaining things when his communications lapsed into California-speak.

But that wasn't all. There were two TV vans and a whole mess of nicely dressed people milling about. They didn't look like they'd had any more sleep than Penny, but they bustled around with a great deal of purpose. They folded their arms and looked meaningfully at the storefront. They pointed at the wires overhead and the abandoned phone tower on Cheegee Hill. They stood on the roof of Ham's Diner, shouting into their cell phones and conversing with each other at the same time.

Tom's jeep was parked nearby, too. Him and Miz Tromp seemed to be walking in a big circle, right in the middle of the intersection of Main and Earl, talking something through. Sometimes he'd stop pacing and just turn around to look at her for a long time. Sometimes she'd grab him by the sleeve and wave her hands like she surrendered.

While Travis and I looked on, Mayor Cussler's pickup pulled up. He climbed out dressed in a suit and tie, which was startling, seeing as how I'd only ever seen him in jeans. He hightailed it over to Penny, JoBeth, and Kip.

“What on earth is all this?” I asked Travis.

“If everything goes well,” he said, grinning, “you're witnessing the birth of the Rural News Network.”

“What's that?”

“It's a scheme Kip made up—and I'm helping him,” Travis replied. “A TV channel that gets picked up direct by special satellite receivers. Real news, no static. We aim to build one in every small town, everywhere. And the headquarters is gonna be right here, in Sass.”

“That's
huge,
” I said.

After my shock wore off, I realized: “That's jobs! Here in Sass!”

And another thing: “You're gonna stay! Doesn't that mean you're gonna stay?”

“Near as I can figure,” he replied.

The Rural News Network. I shook my head. “I don't understand how it happened.”

“You don't?” Travis pointed to Kip and JoBeth. They were standing awfully close, looking real cozy.

I couldn't help feeling a little aggrieved for Travis. The presence of his son, alone, wasn't enough to bring Kip to Sass, but just add a lady friend to it—

“It's all right,” Travis said, as if he'd read my thoughts. “I'm figuring out who he is. I won't let him hurt me.”

I wasn't sure it would be that simple, but I wished it were so with all my heart. And considering the smile on Travis's face as he eyed the commotion, I couldn't help being excited for him.

“So what about your ma and Tom?” I pointed to the two of them, still pacing in the street.

“Oh, he jumped the gun and said something about getting engaged,” Travis said. “She told him he was addled, but she ain't exactly sent him away. I expect that's what they're bickering about now.”

“Maybe he's in a rush 'cause he's afraid one of Kip's TV people is gonna snatch her up. Give your ma her own cooking show. Make her a star.” I made little sparkle motions over my head.

Travis laughed.

I just stood there for a time, enjoying the look of him, of his smile.

“I am glad you're staying,” I said at last.

Then he kissed me, all boyfriendly, but still real polite.

And
then
we went over to see what we could do to help fetch the Tromps' big wish.

25

I
RECKON WE'RE CLOSE TO THE END OF THE STORY—AT
least the one you came to hear. As I said, I ain't fetching wishes no more. I don't know. Maybe I could if I really tried. Someday.

Happily, there's no shortage of wish fetchers in Sass now.

As for Travis—though he has his fits and starts—most days he leaves his surly black pants and his angry black shirt at home. He works afternoons at the RNN and is the youngest TV executive east of the Mississippi. Having something worthwhile to do with himself—not to mention,
ahem,
a girlfriend and a sideline fetching wishes—seems to suit him fine.

Jura and Sonny broke up the second week of December. It was a friendly sort of thing. Jura wanted to focus on SUBA and her college applications, and Sonny wanted to spend more time buddying up to Travis. I think he fancies himself a news anchor someday.

Tom's retreat center opened just last week. Penny Walton is his biggest investor, and Miz Tromp supplies all the herbal fixin's.

Tom and Miz Tromp are “seeing each other exclusively” (according to Miz Tromp), or they're “practically engaged” (according to Tom). Meanwhile, JoBeth Haines and Kip Tromp actually
are
engaged, set to be married this summer.

Pa still drinks too much. But he did get a part-time job sweeping floors at the RNN, so that's something.

Who else might you want to know about? Let's see. Scree Hopkins and Micky Forks tried to run off and elope a couple weeks ago. Micky leaves for military school next week.

So there you have it. Only two more scraps and we'll have a quilt.

 

Not long after Thanksgiving, I was by myself, reading, when a strange notion came to me. I simply
knew
I needed to take a walk.

It was cold out, of course, being December, so I put on my heavy coat and one of Gram's scarves—a handmade, shimmering white one that I'd always thought made her look so beautiful.

Seeing as how I was alone in the house, there wasn't anyone to say goodbye to on my way out.

I walked along the creek for a while, following it until it bent like a hairpin. There it met up with Deer Run Way, which took me toward town. It was a back road and a longish walk. I was a little lost in my thoughts when I suddenly found myself beside my favorite old tree, the one I reckoned had known my great-great-gram so well.

I found a patch of sunlight beneath and was just about to take a seat on the ground when I heard a voice calling my name. I looked up to find JoBeth Haines waving at me from the police station/library.

“Genuine! You got to see this!” she hollered.

A bit regretfully, I got up and headed her way. I'd been looking forward to some quality time with my kin, even if it was only in my imagination.

Holding the door open for me, JoBeth said, “I'm so glad I saw you there! You won't believe it!”

“What is it?” I asked, only a little curious.

She pulled a magazine from behind the counter. “It's the new
Georgia History Today
! It just came in!”

As a rule, I do enjoy a good
Georgia History Today,
but it wasn't until I saw one of the articles listed on the cover that my heart gave a little flutter. “The Georgia MacIntyres: Wishing on a Star,” it said.

“What on earth—?” I asked, already turning the pages.

“Read it!” JoBeth urged me.

I won't repeat the article word for word, but, boiled down, here's what it said. Back in 1879, a Georgia astronomer by the name of Charlotte MacIntyre picked up a peculiar vibration on one of her instruments. She'd found a clump of stars that seemed to sing.

“Turn the page!” JoBeth said. “There's more!”

Not long after Charlotte had discovered the MacIntyre Cluster—which is what she called it—her daughter Stella started granting wishes, crediting the stars with her power. In time, Stella became so famous that President Theodore Roosevelt called her to the White House to fetch him a wish.

It hardly seemed possible! One of my own relatives fetched a wish for a U.S. president? My mind boggled at the very notion!

“If that don't take the whole biscuit!” I whispered.

“MacIntyre was your grandma's maiden name, wasn't it?” JoBeth asked.

I told her it was.

“You really should keep this, then.” She tapped the magazine. “A nice reminder of her, maybe.”

I said it was, and thanked her sincerely.

As I was leaving, JoBeth said to me, “You sure do have an extraordinary family, Genuine Sweet!”

An extraordinary family,
I repeated to myself.

I nodded. “I reckon I do.”

With the magazine tucked snug under my arm, I went back home. Pa was passed out on the sofa. Even in my room with the door shut, I could hear his snoring.

 

It was a pretty, snowy Christmas holiday, and I spent it warm, thanks to a new program Penny Walton helped Jura and me get started at the electric company. The Empowerment Partnership, it was called. The “partners” were Rumpp County Power, SUBA, and everyone Penny could pester into joining. Once a month we all got together to find ways to make sure everyone's electric bill got paid, whether they had the money or not. Sometimes we arranged work-for-power trades, other times we found donors. It wasn't always easy, but it was a real comfort to know that nobody in Sass would ever go cold again.

Christmas-wise, I received more than my share of invitations to parties and dinners. And never in all my born days had I gotten so many presents! Even after I'd failed to make all the weather go away, I guess a number of people still looked on me kindly.

But gifts and invitations—and even good friends like Jura and Travis—didn't make up for the fact that, when I came home at night, the place was usually empty. Even when Pa was there—well, you know—he wasn't much in the way of company. In short, I was lonely for kin.

 

That Christmas Eve, Miz Tromp and I sat together on the bench swing in front of her place. Travis and Tom and Kip were inside watching a football game—the RNN's first official broadcast.

“Ready for more marshmallows in that cocoa, Gen?” Miz Tromp asked me.

I liked how she'd taken to calling me Gen. It reminded me of Gram.

“Naw,” I said, fiddling with my ma's old star necklace. I'd been wearing it a lot lately. “One more and it won't be cocoa anymore, it'll be marshmallow stew.”

“Oooh! Now
there's
an idea,” she said, ever the chef.

On the eaves overhead, the Tromps' Christmas lights blinked red-green-white in turn. I watched them for a time, thinking on how I'd never had any Christmas decorations at my house at all, until Gram had moved in and brought hers with her. I hadn't bothered to unpack them this year, though.

“Miz Tromp?” I said softly.

She sipped her cocoa. “Mm?”

“I was wondering, would you fetch me a wish?”

Her eyes got wide and she sat up very straight. “Course I would! Happy to! What for?”

“I don't know, exactly. I guess I'm tired of going home to a vacant house. It's nice of you and the Carvers to have me over all the time, but I miss my gram, and even though I never met her, I miss my ma.” I laughed. “In a way, I even miss my pa, because part of me can imagine what it might be like if he were, well, you know, really like a pa.” I shook my head. “Maybe you can help with the phrasing of it, but I think my wish is for something like a family.”

She set her cocoa on the porch rail and stood up. “All right.”

“All right?” I asked.

“I just happen to have a wish cupcake tucked away for emergencies like this one.”

“It's not really an emergency—” I started to say.

“Sure it is. Now come inside and don't argue.”

What was I to do but follow?

I went inside, ate my cupcake—
Oh, Lordy, that melt-in-the-mouth cupcake!
—and after we talked for a while longer, I went home.

26

S
O THERE YOU HAVE IT. GENUINE SWEET, TWELVE-YEAR-OLD
wish fetcher, retired. Or, retired-ish, anyway.

 It's a funny thing, isn't it, how a gift comes to a body?
Ping!
You're a wish fetcher! Here's your heavy yoke and more than a few sleepless nights! Maybe that's why, that night on the hill, only a very few people cared to learn to fetch wishes for themselves. They sensed that, in some ways, being a wish fetcher is harder than it is easy. Though I think there were probably other reasons, too.

Love does not triumph easily or without pain.
A lady writer said that, and I think it's true. Wish fetching, when it's done right, has a lot to do with love. Not just loving people, but also loving life in all its sorrows and celebrations. When we see someone suffering and our gut urge is to reach out a hand rather than tearing off in the other direction, that's when we're ready, I think, to
really
start fetching wishes.

You might be wondering why I'm saying this to you. Well, I heard that Dilly Barker taught her schoolteacher cousin, Shevonne, to fetch wishes. Not long after, Miss Shevonne gave the gift to thirteen sixth-graders!

And, as you might imagine, I can't help worrying a little. Even if each of them kids only taught
one
person, and
those
fetchers taught one, and
those
fetchers . . . It could be the second coming of the fall of the great city of Fenn.