The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake (20 page)
Gold Rush Tavern? My question answered, I looked down at my cell phone ringing steady in my hand. The face showed that the call was from Samuel’s bank. Just as I flipped the cover to say hello, I heard Goldie continue to speak with Velvet.
I stepped aside for privacy. “Hello?”
“Lizzie?” It was Samuel’s secretary.
“Susan?”
“Lizzie, there’s been an accident. Samuel fell on his way to the car, slipped on an icy patch, I think. Anyway, Curtis Murray got him in the back of his SUV, and they’re heading toward the hospital now. I’ve called Dr. Walliston. He said he’d meet Samuel in the ER. Lizzie, I think it’s pretty bad. Samuel was hollering like a whipped
dog, and you know he doesn’t do that.”
My shoulders squared. “No. No, he doesn’t. Okay... let me think... okay. I’ll head over to the hospital right now. Thank you,
Susan. Thank you. I’ll head right over.”
“Keep me posted, will you?” she asked. “I really hated seeing him in that much pain.”
“I will.”
“And Lizzie, if you need anything, you call me. Anything. Anything
at all.”
I said I would, then flipped the top of the phone down. When I looked up, Velvet was halfway to the bus stop and Goldie was saying, “She’s from Mississippi. I thought I recognized a Southern accent. I do know my people...” She paused long enough to look
at me. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Samuel,” I said. “He’s been hurt. I’ve got to... I’ve got to go.” I began to flail my arms like a wounded bird. “I’ve got to go to
the hospital.” I felt myself begin to shake.
What now, Lord?
Goldie grabbed my hand. “Come on,” she said. “You’re a bundle of nerves. I’ll drive.”
Clay watched as the scene unfolded just outside Higher Grounds, and he frowned.
“What are you looking at?” Britney asked from beside him.
“Hmmm?” he said, not looking her way.
From the corner of his eye he saw Britney crane her neck to look out. “Is that... what was her name... Velvet James with Mrs. Dippel and Mrs. Prattle?”
Clay looked from Britney to the street and then back to Britney again. “Yeah.”
“She looks an awful lot like that deputy sheriff, doesn’t she?”
Clay looked back out the window. “You think?”
He felt Britney touch his arm, and he looked down to her hand. It was a pretty hand, soft and small and ornamented with but a single blue-stoned ring. He touched it lightly. “That’s pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you wearing it before.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” she said.
“Pretty.”
“Clay?”
He looked up at her. “Mmm?”
“What’s really on your mind?”
Evangeline
As has been the tradition for as long as I can remember, the weekend before Christmas a group known as the Summit View Beautification Society (started by my mother shortly after my father, God rest their souls, was elected mayor of our little town) takes a drive around Summit View for the sole purpose of determining who has the finest, most festive decorations on their property. There haven’t been too many years in which I lost; not because my daddy was the mayor or because this was his home originally. And not because of the delightful English wassail I prepare and serve to them piping hot from my mother’s milk glass punch set, although I do know for a fact that this is the very reason they save my street till last. I win because I bring a little Victorian England to Summit View every year by bringing an old sleigh—one from my great-grandfather’s day—out from the back shed and filling it with what appears to be mounds of Christmas presents. Every window is graced with a large wreath wrapped and woven with iridescent pearls and ribbons of silver and gold. Boughs of greenery hang from the tops of the windows, each one shimmering with tiny white lights while an inviting six-foot St. Nicholas stands near my front door, welcoming all who come near with a “Merry Christmas!” It takes me all of three days total to get it done, but it’s worth it. Not only for the joy it brings my neighbors but for the win it brings from the Society.
Now, I’m not saying I win
every
year ecause of my wassail or because of the lovely way I have of bringing the holiday season to my home. A newcomer (Rushies, we call them) won a couple of years ago, and one year—many years ago—Samuel Prattle built something akin to a real-life nativity scene and had his brood playing the parts of the essential characters, including Michelle Prattle as the Virgin Mary.
As I put the finishing touches on my front door wreath, fingers dancing lightly over it, I came to a sudden stop.
With all the people
currently in the Prattle household, they could actually pull this off again.
I frowned at the thought.
I was headed inside to make a quick call to Vernon from the kitchen phone. What with him making his rounds, he would know if a barn-like thing had been erected in the front yard of the Prattle household.
“Evie, Samuel’s in bed, remember? His back?”
“Oh, praise the good Lord,” I said before I had a chance to
think.
“Evangeline!” my future husband admonished from the other end of the phone line.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” I said just as quickly. I looked up at the clock. It was nearly ten o’clock on Saturday morning. Lizzie ought to be up by now. “As a matter of fact, I’ll call Lizzie now. I haven’t really spoken to her since Tuesday evening when she was at the hospital with Samuel.”
“That surprises me,” he said.
“Well, I’ve been busy, Vernon Vesey. What with Christmas right around the corner, the Christmas tea, making sure Lisa Leann doesn’t ruin that, doing my own shopping, and keeping up the house. Not to mention all the things I’ve got to think about with our wedding.”
“Ah. By the way, I ran into Lisa Leann the other day. She insists that the two of us get over there sometime this coming week to continue the process of planning for our wedding. She says we’re way off schedule.”
I frowned again. “If we were having a really big wedding, I couldn’t agree more. But we aren’t. Lisa Leann knows I want this to be lovely but simple.”
“I just want this to be over,” Vernon quipped.
I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or not. “I’ll take that in a positive way,” I told him.
He chuckled, giving me no indication as to how he meant it.
“I need to call Lizzie,” I said. “So good-bye, Vernon Vesey.”
“Goodbye, Evangeline Benson,” he said with another laugh.
That man
, I thought with a smile as I ended the call, then picked up the receiver and dialed Lizzie’s number. Moments later the voice of a young child—no doubt one of her grandchildren, but God only knows which one—informed me that I had, indeed, reached the Prattle residence.
“Prattle residence and hospital,” he (or she, I couldn’t tell) giggled into the phone.
“Yes, this is Ms. Evangeline Benson. May I speak to your grandmother,
please?”
“Meeeeeee-Maaaaaaa!” the child shouted.
I held the phone a good six inches from my ear and sighed
deeply. Poor Lizzie.
“Hello?” I heard Lizzie say, followed by, “I have it, sweetheart. Hang up the phone.” She sounded exhausted. Surely no nativity scene this year, I thought, then admonished myself in Vernon’s absence.
“It’s me, Evangeline,” I said when the other phone had been set noisily down on its cradle.
“Oh, hello, Evie.”
“Tell me what’s going on with Samuel,” I said, getting to the heart of the matter.
I think I may have heard her choke back a giggle... or a sob. I wasn’t sure which.
“Let me close the bedroom door,” she said. When she came back
she continued, “Oh, Evie. This is just awful. I do mean awful.”
I pulled a chair from the kitchen table toward me and sat down. “Talk to me, Liz. I’m listening.”
“You can’t imagine having all these people in your house at one time. The children are precious, of course, but I now know why we have them when we’re young. And just when I think things are going well between Tim and Samantha, they break out in another
argument...”
“Aren’t they seeing Pastor Kevin?”
“That seems to be when they fight the most, after seeing him. Whatever he’s doing, I’m sure it’s working, but honestly! Samuel and I never spoke to each other like that and—”
“How is Samuel? What do the doctors say?” I didn’t really want to hear about Tim and Samantha, though I didn’t have the heart to just come right out and say it.
I heard Lizzie take in a deep breath, then let it out. “The doctor says he could be out of work for six weeks. He’s going through some physical therapy over at the hospital, and praise God Samantha is here to take him. If I had to take him, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“God is good,” I agreed with her. “He knows just what we need
before we need it.”
“That much is true. I’m not saying that God caused Samantha and Tim to have problems just for this, but I do know that he uses all things for good for those who love him and who are called according to his purpose.”
“Preach it, sister,” I said with a grin, enjoying my own humor. “So what’s he doing with himself all day? Samuel, not God. I don’t even want to think about what God’s doing with himself all day.”
Lizzie giggled. “Evie, you make me laugh. Thank you. I’ll tell you what he’s doing. We—unfortunately—have TiVo. So, he TiVo’s what he calls ‘judging shows’ all day so he can watch them again and again or watch the ones he missed because he was watching another one or because his pain pills kicked in and he napped or because he had to go to physical therapy or—”
“Breathe, girl.”
Lizzie took in another deep breath. “Whew,” she said. “You have
no idea how many of those shows are out there.”
“Tell Samuel I said to watch
Fox and Friends.
It’ll keep him righteously informed.”
“I’ll tell him.” She paused for a minute. “I’ve never been a big fan of television, and now it’s blaring all the time, and then with all the voices in the house too. Oh, Evie. I’m so tired.” She paused again. “Not to mention Mother.”
“How’s that going?”
“Well, we found her a place. It took all of this week, but I’m lucky to have found a place even this quickly. Especially with Christmas only a few days away. Michelle and I are leaving in about an hour to go get Mother from my brother’s and bring her to a nice facility I found in Silverthorne. We have nothing akin to it here in Summit View, and I don’t want her in a nursing home.”
“Just one more thing for you to do.”
“Lisa Leann called me last night about the Christmas tea, wanting to know if I’m still planning to host a table. You know what, Evie? I told her no. Can you believe I told her no?”
What I could
not
believe was that Lisa Leann Lambert was running behind me when she knew good and well that I’d already taken care of the table hostessing. I ground my teeth together for a second, then said, “Good for you, Lizzie.”
“How are things with you and Vernon?” she asked me. “Moving
toward the big day?”
“Even with a small wedding, there’s so much to do,” I informed her. “I’m going to try to get Donna to look at some church decorations with me sometime soon. I’ve got a stack of bride magazines I bought over at Lisa Leann’s.”
“Speaking of Donna, have you seen the new girl—well, I call her a girl; she’s really a woman—in town? Looks exactly like Donna.”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Well, you could have seen her and thought you were seeing Donna. I’m telling you, she’s the spitting image of her. She said that people were always waving at her, so she knew she must look like someone.”
“Who is she?” I asked. I didn’t like the idea of someone new being
in town and me not knowing about it. It wasn’t right.
“Her name is... let me think...Velvet. Velvet James. What a name, huh?”
“I don’t know any Jameses.”
“Her mother is Dee Dee McGurk,” Lizzie said. “You know who I’m talking about. The woman from the Gold Rush Tavern. Moved
here a few months ago?”
The room began to spin around me. Literally. Things went black, then I saw little stars—brilliant and bursting before my eyes—and then, when all that had stopped, the room began to spin. The sound of rushing water filled my ears, replaced momentarily by Lizzie calling my name. “Evie? Evie? Evangeline?”
“I have to go,” I whispered.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I stood up and grabbed hold of the counter for support. “I’m okay,” I said. “I just... I need to go, Lizzie. I need to go.”
I’m not sure how I got to the car, or even how I got the car out of the garage and onto the street. My first fully conscious thought was that Vernon could have another daughter he didn’t know about and that my world—my perfect little world of a handsome fiancé, good friends, and an upcoming award for my Christmas decorations—had come to an end.
Vernon could have another daughter. Oh, what will
he think? What will he do? Does this mean that Doreen has a new
magnet to draw him back to her? Or will this even matter?