The Waltons 2 - Trouble on the Mountain (17 page)

“Oh, I think John can handle any kind of emergency.”

“Yeah, maybe so. As long as nothing happened to him.”

“I reckon I’d have heard if there was anything like that.”

“You know, Ike, I reckon I’d accept their apologies now if they’d come to offer them. No use in making them suffer too much.”

“Then why don’t you go tell them?”

Zeb gave him a narrow look. “That’s the worst thing I could do, Ike. After a thing like this, a man can’t go crawling back with his tail between his legs. That’s the whole point of my being here, don’t you see?”

Ike nodded. He rose and took his plate to the sink. “Then I reckon you’re just going to have to wait for them to come to you.”

“The only problem there, Ike, is they don’t know I’m willing now to accept their apologies.”

“Zeb,” Ike sighed, “I got all kinds of work to be doing. I reckon you’re just going to have to figure these things out all by yourself.”

Zeb nodded. He looked around the table. There was a small cushion resting on Ike’s vacant chair. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right. Say, Ike, you wouldn’t mind if I just sat here and thought about things a little while, would you?”

“Sit all you like.” Ike smiled and headed back for the store.

Zeb grabbed the cushion. He placed it over his folded arms, and gently lowered his head.

“Is there anything more I can iron?” Mary Ellen asked. She had finished with the overalls and placed the last of them on the pile next to the sheets and pillow cases.

Olivia looked over from the stove. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more washed.”

“I could do some washing. We could take down the curtains and wash the slipcovers from the couch.”

Olivia gave her a weary glance. Mary Ellen had been working furiously since breakfast time. The other children had gone off to pick more berries, but Mary Ellen had refused their invitation to come along. Instead, she had both washed and dried the dishes, and then insisted that she do all the day’s washing and ironing. She also announced that she was going to ask Ike for her dollar deposit back. Apparently she was going to make up for the loss of the Baldwin sisters’ typewriter by dedicating herself to a life of hard work and sacrifice.

“The curtains and slipcovers were all washed and ironed two weeks ago,” Olivia said.

“Then what can I do?”

“You could make Grandma a sandwich and take it up to her.”

“I’ll do it,” Mary Ellen agreed. She put the ironing board away, placed all the neatly folded clothing and sheets to the side, and got some bread out of the drawer. “Do you think Grandpa’ll come home today, Mama?”

“I certainly hope so.”

Since her trip down to Ike Godsey’s to apologize, Grandma had refused to come out of her room. It had been a humiliating experience for her. But Olivia wished that somehow she would fight back rather than retreating into seclusion. In their own ways, both she and Grandpa were having their pride and stubbornness tested. But if one of them didn’t do something to change things, it might go on like this for weeks.

Olivia dropped the last of the carrots and onions into the pot of stew and rinsed her hands at the sink. She caught a brief glimpse of John-Boy passing the window, and then he was coming in. The despairing look on his face brought a sharp stab to Olivia’s heart.

“Did you tell them?” Mary Ellen asked hesitantly.

John-Boy nodded.

Olivia supposed that there were all kinds of consoling remarks a person might offer in a situation like this. But she didn’t have the heart to say any of them.

After he closed the door, John-Boy shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned heavily against the cupboard. “They hardly said anything, Mama. They just changed the subject and talked about other things. It was terrible.”

“Are you sure they understood what you were talking about?” Mary Ellen asked.

“They understood all right. I reckon they were about as shocked as when they first heard their papa died. Mama, I don’t think those ladies are ever going to speak to me again. I don’t know if they’re ever going to speak to anybody.”

Under different circumstances Olivia would have cheered such a development. But now it seemed like a tragedy.

“I’m sorry, John-Boy. But it had to be done.”

“I know, Mama.” John-Boy sighed and straightened up. “Is Daddy around?”

“No. He had to take some more wood over to Anker Barnes. You want some lunch?”

“No, I reckon I’ll just go up to my room for a while.”

Mary Ellen looked like she was about to burst into tears after John-Boy left. “Mama, it’s all my fault and I feel just terrible. I think I could kill myself. I’m just the stupidest person in the whole world.”

“No, you’re not, Mary Ellen. It’s just as much my fault as it is yours.”

“But you didn’t hand over that box to Mr. Levy without even looking in it. And all because of that dumb beauty kit.”

Olivia moved to the table and sat down. Was it possible for things to get any worse, she wondered. Of all the difficulties and disasters she could remember the Walton family having experienced, she couldn’t think of a more depressing time than right at this minute. The loss of a silly typewriter, and an even more silly misunderstanding on the part of Grandpa and Grandma, and it suddenly seemed that they were no longer a family. It was as if the whole world had suddenly come to a stop.

“Mama,” Mary Ellen said, “would you mind taking the sandwich up to Grandma? I really don’t feel much like it.”

“I don’t feel much like it either, sweetheart.”

“Would you, though? I think I’d just like to take a walk.”

Olivia gave her a sad smile. “Go ahead. After I talk to Grandma, I may just go take a walk myself.”

After Mary Ellen left, Olivia sat for a while, listening to the vacant silence of the house. It seemed more like a funeral parlor than a home belonging to four adults and seven energetic children. And the empty afternoon silence had the feel of people waiting for some new kind of disaster to strike.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it, she supposed. Grandma would go on waiting, John-Boy would go on suffering, and Mary Ellen would feel guilty every time she looked at John-Boy. Olivia sighed and looked over at the sandwich Mary Ellen had prepared. On the other hand, maybe there was something she could do about it—at least Grandma’s part of the suffering.

Olivia fixed a smile on her face as she delivered the sandwich to the room. “Mary Ellen made you some lunch, Grandma.”

She was in her rocker, gazing silently out the window. “Tell Mary Ellen I’m much obliged. But I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I’ll put it on the dresser here. You might be hungry later.” From the dresser Olivia came back and sat on the bed. A ribbon and a piece of crumpled wrapping paper lay on the floor, and then she spotted the perfume bottle in Grandma’s lap.

“Is that the present Grandpa sent home for you?”

Grandma’s hand went to the bottle, lightly grasping it. “This is the first real gift Zeb has given me in years,” she said softly. “Always before it was something necessary—for the house, or something I needed to wear. One Christmas when we had real bad weather he gave me a set of long underwear.” She smiled faintly. “But never toilet water.”

“You should be telling all that to Grandpa.”

“Would if he were here. Just can’t go out looking for him again.”

“We could send John-Boy.”

“To say what? Esther Walton is sorry she got jealous? Well, I’m not sorry. I’m jealous of Zeb because I love him.”

“I know that.”

“You think I’m to blame, Livvy?”

“No. Guess I’d be the same way about John.”

“What do you think I should do?”

Olivia smiled. It was the question she hoped Grandma would ask. “I think you should get to work on your hair while I iron your blue dress.”

Grandma stared at her. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the dance tonight. I think it’s time we all quit moping around in this house. Particularly you, Grandma.”

“Oh, I couldn’t go to a dance.”

“Yes you can. And you will. And so will everybody else. Including Grandpa.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. The reason they have dances is so people can have a good time and forget their troubles. And Oglethorpe Hansen will be doing the calling. Maybe it’s time Grandpa learned that jealousy is a two-way street.”

Grandma gaped at her, horrified. “Why, I couldn’t do a thing like that.”

“You certainly can, Grandma. And with that nice new perfume I think you can do it very well.”

“But . . . well, now, I declare.” She smiled and looked at the perfume. “You really think Zeb’ll come?”

“I think he’ll come if he knows you’re coming. And we’ll send John-Boy to find him and make sure he knows.”

“Mary Ellen? Mary Ellen!”

Sheriff Bridges had caught only a glimpse of her, but he was certain it was Mary Ellen. He had just turned off the main road, heading for the Waltons’ house when he saw the yellow shirt and the long brown hair moving through the woods.

He honked his horn and shouted again.

The yellow shirt reappeared. Mary Ellen stared at him for a minute, then came striding down the slope.

“What’s the matter, Sheriff?”

“Nothing. You just get in the car here. You and me got to get on down to Charlottesville.”

“What for?”

Ep Bridges grinned. “Never mind. Just hop in and let’s go.”

They were all grinning when Mary Ellen and the Sheriff arrived at the Charlottesville police station.

“Hey, Ep, you found her, huh!” the man at the desk said. “How you doing, Mary Ellen?”

Mary Ellen smiled, but Sheriff Bridges hustled her on past the desk and into a little office where the other police officer was seated. Then Mary Ellen gasped and stopped short.

The man’s back was turned, and she hadn’t noticed him at first. But there was no question about it—he was the same unshaven, ferocious-looking man who had been sitting in the corner the other day, wearing handcuffs. There were no handcuffs on him today, and he wasn’t staring at her so he didn’t look quite so ferocious. But she still didn’t want to get too close to him.

“Sit down, Mary Ellen,” the officer smiled. He nodded toward the hairy man. “This is Homer Cross.”

Mary Ellen sat down in the chair at the far side of the desk. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cross.”

“Homer’s got something to tell you, Mary Ellen. Go ahead, Homer.”

The man’s eyes suddenly turned to the floor, as if he were afraid to look at her. Then he curled forward in the chair and cleared his throat. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “I seen ya there yesterday . . . you and them other kids. I seen ya talking to the cop out front, and . . . well, I heard ya talking about that typewriting machine. And . . . well, I knew where it was all the time.”

“You did?” Mary Ellen gasped. “Where?”

The man glanced cautiously from Sheriff Bridges to the policeman. “Well . . . I stole it.”

“You did? From the junkyard?”

“No. From a pawn shop.”

Ep Bridges and the policeman were grinning.

“I don’t understand,” Mary Ellen said. “Where’s the typewriting machine now?”

“Well, let me explain,” the policeman smiled. “Homer here got picked up for breaking into a market over on Third Street the other night. We didn’t know he’d stolen something from Harry Stern’s pawn shop earlier in the day. In fact, Mr. Stern had the typewriter sitting out in front, and that’s the only thing Homer took, so Mr. Stern didn’t even bother reporting it. But last night Homer voluntarily confessed to us that he’d stolen the typewriter and he had it at his house.”

Homer Cross gave Mary Ellen a sheepish glance and nodded. “I felt sorry for ya.”

“Yeah,” Ep grinned, “he saw all you kids in the station yesterday and heard us talking about the Baldwin sisters’ machine and everything, and he knew where it was all the time. We went out and got it from his house this morning.”

“Gee,” Mary Ellen said and looked at the man. She felt so good she wanted to cry. They had found the typewriter! They had found it, and they had it right here in the police station! “Gee,” she said again and looked at the man. He didn’t look ferocious at all now. All hunched forward, and with his eyes all bloodshot, he just looked like a sad, hungry old man. “Will Mr. Cross have to go to jail?”

“Well, that’s not up to us, Mary Ellen. But I’m sure Judge Hammond’ll take into consideration what he’s done to help us out.”

“Gee,” Mary Ellen said again. She felt like kissing the man. But she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to do that—or if the man would really like it. She stood up and held out her hand. “We’re sure obliged to you, Mr. Cross. And if I can do anything to help you, I sure will.”

The man seemed to be surprised by the outstretched hand. But then he suddenly got to his feet and smiled as he shook her hand. There were about four teeth missing from the front of his mouth. “I ’ppreciate that, Miss. And I sure hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble. I sure wouldn’t have took it if I’d knowed.”

“Gee,” Mary Ellen said. Tears suddenly tumbled down her cheeks as she grinned at all of them.

John-Boy had a hunch Grandpa’s visit to the Zimmermans’ had only been a short one. As friendly as he and Cornelius were, Grandpa never did get along too well with Edna. So John-Boy headed for Ike’s.

He was just as happy to get out of the house. In fact, right now he felt like he could just keep on walking—maybe until he reached California and the Pacific Coast. And there maybe he could sign on to a freighter as a deckhand and keep going to China.

The last thing he wanted to do was go to the dance tonight. But his mother had insisted. Come the devil or high water, she said, the whole family was going to get bathed and cleaned up and dressed in their best clothes, and they were going to the dance and have fun. John-Boy couldn’t remember seeing her quite so determined. But it would be a long time, John-Boy guessed, before he would regard anything as fun.

Ike was giving himself a haircut when John-Boy came in—twisted around, trying to see the back of his head in the mirror. “He’s in the back,” he said as soon as he saw John-Boy. “Say, how’s this look? Have I got it even on both sides, John-Boy?”