Road to Nowhere (10 page)

“That’s the whole year in one box?”

“It was only once a week then, twenty-four pages.”

She opened the lid and touched the top paper inside. “It’s all stuck together.”

“Probably got wet in the flood.”

“That was thirty years ago,” she said.

“Then it should be dried out by now.”

It was dry, more or less. “I guess I can just look through them.”

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“If I told you, you’d go and print it and everyone would know. And I want it to be a surprise.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“Well, I can, too,” she said. “You go back to your nap.”

“Hey, Corny.” Wade had the phone tucked in between his ear and his shoulder. “I got a house sold.”

“I didn’t know you had anyone coming in.”

“They were here a couple weeks ago. Just got the call.”

“Good for you, Wade!”

“Yeah, and it’ll get Charlie off my back for a couple days, too. Hey, I was thinking. When Meredith’s here. Let’s take her rafting.”

“She’d love it.”

“I’ll call the outfitter and make the reservations.” The front door opened. “Talk to you later, somebody’s coming in.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

A man was gawking around the room.

“Hi, there,” Wade said. He didn’t get up. Now that he saw him, the guy didn’t look real likely—more like a salesman than a buyer.

“Hi.” The man stopped at the big map board and blinked. He was maybe forty-five, slacks and a sweater, but the sweater was thick wool, dark gray. Not standard country club bright polyester/cotton mix. The shoes could pass for work boots.

“Just look that over,” Wade said. “Let me know if you have a question.”

“Sure. Thanks.” He squinted at the board and scratched his head. Diamond ring on his right hand. Wade stood up. The guy wasn’t city, but there was money somewhere.

“So, where you from?” Wade asked.

“Wardsville. More or less.”

Well, this was a first. “I don’t think we’ve met. Wade Harris.”

“Jeremy Coates.”

That rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Do you get up to Gold Valley much?”

“Uh, no.” He looked around the big room at the stone, heavy beams, wood floor. “I’m not buying. Just curious.”

“Sure, sure. Can I show you around?”

“Can I drive around myself?”

“Help yourself. Take a map. The black roads are the ones that are done and paved. The red ones are going in this year.”

“What color’s Gold River Highway?”

Wade caught himself and made sure he thought before he opened his mouth. “Let’s just call it real light pink.”

“I think that road’s going to wipe out Wardsville.”

“I think it might be a big help to the town.”

“Then you’re wrong. You wouldn’t know anyway.”

“Maybe none of us know what’s going to happen. You can’t let that stop you.”

Jeremy Coates didn’t like that. “Something has to stop you.” There wasn’t anything to say, but the man was already leaving anyway.

Wade just smiled. “Stop back in if you have any questions. Be glad to help.”

The door closed and Wade opened the phone book. Just think about Meredith. And rafting. The outfitter they usually used . . . Zach . . . something. Water should be up real high.

And he’d have to ask somebody who Jeremy Coates was.

“Jeremy! Jeremy Coates!” Good gravy. Randy pulled over to the curb, right there on Hemlock, where Jeremy was just walking down the sidewalk like he always had.

“Randy?”

“Of course it is! How are you doing? It’s been forever!”

“It’s been a year since I was back.” Jeremy leaned down to look in the car window. “You’ve heard what he’s doing?”

“Roland? Well, yes, I have heard, and most people in town have, and it’s been a shock, too, I’d have to say.”

“The old fool.”

That answered most everything that Randy might have asked. “Did you come to talk to him?”

“We talked. Over at the factory. We talked and talked. All morning. If you could call it talking. It wasn’t worth the gas driving up.”

“I’m sorry about that, but we all know how your father gets an idea in his head and just won’t let go.”

“You think I don’t know that? The old fool.”

“But tell me what you’re doing with yourself, Jeremy.” It seemed wise to change the topic of conversation.

“Waiting. I’ve been in Asheville, waiting for the old fool to retire. Waiting a year! And now what?”

“You have a place down there?”

“Just an apartment. And managing a furniture store.”

“Well, that’s not bad!”

“It’s more than bad,” Jeremy said. “But at least it wasn’t going to be forever.”

“And now you’re just thirty miles away in Asheville, and this is the first you’ve been back home?” It seemed wise to change the topic of conversation again.

“What would have been the point? But I did drive around this afternoon. And now I’m looking around at the neighborhood.”

“It hasn’t changed much, and your father’s house is just where it’s always been.”

“Nothing changes around here.”

“Hello, this is Randy McCoy. Louise? Is that you?”

All she could do was giggle. “It is. I can’t help it.”

“What has come over you?”

It was so fun!

“Randy,” she said, “did you know the board used to start terms in March instead of January?”

“March? What are you talking about?”

“Because I’ve got a little idea, and nobody’s going to stop me.”

Randy sounded so worried. “Louise. I hope you’re not going to cause trouble.”

“Randy, I’m going to cause all kinds of trouble!”

March

March 6, Monday

And there it was, time to start. Randy leaned back to watch.

Joe knocked his gavel and the room got quiet. It was going to be a show, one way or the other.

It was pretty obvious from the big crowd that something was happening, and of course Joe was going to have heard about it, but he wasn’t giving one bit of a hint that he had.

And people were still coming in. Gordon Hite was there, and Lyle with the whole staff from the county offices, and Billy Flockhart, who’d been on the board back in the eighties, and even Tim Grant, who’d been on it in the seventies or so, back when Randy’d been in high school. Not any other board members from before that.

But lots of other people, especially from around Marker, and Randy knew a fair number. The Methodist pastor, and Eileen Bunn, who owned the Imperial Diner, and all Joe’s neighbors.

And of course, Luke Goddard was back in his corner. Someday that plywood patch in the ceiling was going to fall down and hit him right on the head. For now he was writing and writing.

“Come to order,” Joe said, and still not a word that anything might be happening. “Go ahead, Patsy.”

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Here.” She was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Here.”

“Eliza?”

“I am here.” Could Louise have even gotten Eliza in on the party?

“Mr. Harris?”

“Here.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Right here,” he said.

“Everyone’s present, Joe.”

The door opened and Everett Colony took about two steps in and stopped. There was not a single chair open. He found a place to stand, scowling himself blue in the face.

“Thank you, Patsy,” Joe said. “Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors is now in session.”

Randy was still putting names to faces while they accepted the minutes. Louise must have used half the phone book inviting people.

Then Joe leaned back in his chair, acting like he was first noticing the packed room, and every eye was on him. “Next is receiving public comment,” he said. “And it looks to me like someone’s been stirring up trouble.” He still seemed to be in an even temper, at least. “And we’ve got agenda items left over from last month. So I’ve half a mind to dispense with comments and move on to business.”

He was probably serious enough to mean it, but not serious enough to stop Louise.

“Oh, no you don’t, Joe,” she said, and she wiggled her finger at him. “I’d like to know what everyone has to say.”

“Suit yourself.” He put his hands together behind his head and leaned back even more. “I’ll be using my prerogative as board chairman to cut off comment if it gets too long or repetitive.” He looked like he meant that, too. “Please state your name and where you live.”

Everybody seemed to be waiting. Everett Colony started to move, but Gordon Hite put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

Then the back door opened. A boy walked right in, about eight years old, marching down the aisle like he was the governor, looking straight ahead and not at the seventy or eighty people all staring at him. Randy hadn’t ever seen the child before.

But it was pretty obvious Joe had. In fact he leaned forward and started paying real close attention.

The boy came up to the podium, just barely looking over the top.

“My name is Joseph Clay Anderson Junior and I live at 4218 East Cypress Circle in Tampa, Florida. I have an important matter to bring to the attention of the board this evening.” The child was reciting by memory, a speech written for him, most likely, and his voice was as high pitched as a flute, carrying through the whole room. “Most people probably do not realize the time and effort required to serve as an elected official on a county Board of Supervisors or the importance of having wise and experienced citizens volunteer their time to do so.”

Joe was frozen like a statue, like there was no one else in the room but just him and the speaker.

The boy kept going. “Jefferson County is very fortunate to have a chairman of its Board of Supervisors who has served longer than any other elected official in the state of North Carolina and as of tonight has been on this board for fifty years and has been chairman for forty-two years. He has never asked for or expected anything in return for his service.

“There are many citizens of Jefferson County here tonight who would be able to describe how this community is a much better place because of the leadership and vision of this man, and who admire him for his character and integrity, his hard work and his dedication, and his godliness.

“However, even the members of this board, who know better than anyone else how many outstanding qualities he has, may not realize the most important of all, that their chairman is the best great-grandfather in the world and I love you, Granddaddy Joe.”

And then the boy walked right up in front of Joe and
climbed onto
the table and put his arms around Joe’s neck.

There was not a dry eye in the place. So after that, with Rose coming in with a whole crowd of family and someone else with a cake, there didn’t seem much chance of business happening. Randy stood back from his chair as everyone came up toward the front. Joe put his great-grandson in his own chair and stood behind it and let people shake his hand, and he didn’t have any real choice but to let it happen. And people were taking pictures and Louise was cutting the cake, and Everett had disappeared. It was truly a night to celebrate.

Then the telephone rang on Patsy’s desk, which Randy could not remember ever happening during a meeting. Nobody knew who was supposed to answer until finally Patsy did.

Her eyes got big and she grabbed Randy’s elbow because he was close by.

“It’s the governor!”

“Say that again?” Randy said.

“It’s Governor Johnson. On the phone. He wants to talk to Joe.”

“Good gravy, get Joe, then. Tell him we’re getting him.” Randy pushed his way over. “Joe, you have a call.”

Joe got to where he could reach the telephone. “Joe Esterhouse,” he said, and everybody got quiet to listen to him. “Well, thank you, Mr. Governor. . . . Yes, sir, to tell the truth it does seem like fifty years. . . . Now, that would be up to the voters, but I don’t think another fifty is too likely. . . . Thank you, I appreciate it.” Then there was a longer pause. Luke Goddard’s camera flashed a picture of Joe on the telephone.

“Now, that’s something I might use,” Joe said. “Let me write that down.” Patsy handed him a pink telephone message slip, and he wrote whatever the governor was telling him. “Thank you again, sir. Thank you for calling.”

Joe put the pink paper in his wallet. Then he looked up at everyone looking at him and frowned a bit. “Well, I don’t think we’re getting much done tonight,” he said, while the room was still quiet, “so I’ll consider the meeting adjourned.” And everyone laughed, and of course it all kept going on.

Sue Ann was bringing him a piece of cake. “Best meeting I can remember,” he said to her. “Nothing done means nothing done wrong.”

March 8, Wednesday

Rose sat down at the table.

“Cold morning to work in the barn,” she said.

It wasn’t particular cold. “I’ll be out to it anyway,” Joe said. “I was going to make a call on the telephone first.”

“I have laundry.” She put coffee in his cup and went out to the hall.

He took the book of telephone numbers and found the one he wanted. Bunch of numbers. Then he took the telephone itself and pushed the buttons, checking the book on each one. Then he waited.

Right away a girl answered. “Thank you for calling the office of Marty Brannin, representing the forty-fifth district in the North Carolina House of Representatives.”

“I’d like to talk to him,” Joe said.

“He’s not available at the moment, sir. I’d be glad to take a message.”

Fool telephone. “Tell him Joe Esterhouse is calling.”

“What number should we call you back at, Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Just go in and tell him. I’ll wait.”

“Well . . . I don’t know if he’s . . . I’ll see if he’s in.”

“Thank you.”

It didn’t take a minute but Marty was talking to him. “Joe. Hi there.”

“Morning.”

“It’s been a while. What can I do for you?”

“I want to ask you about a road.”

“Well, sure. What do you want to know?”

“We applied for a grant back in January. I’d like to know how that’s coming along.”

“January? Now Joe, you know those things take forever. Do you have a project number or anything?”