The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story (17 page)

“A week ago last Friday.”

“Huh,” Mary Ellen grunted, “that was the day Daddy bought Mama the bedjacket. That’s funny. Daddy was doin’ somethin’ nice, and that old—that lady, says he was out stealin’ her dumb silver.”

John-Boy looked sharply at her, but said nothing. When they came within sight of the house, he smiled at each of them. “Now nobody lets on, OK? Especially with Mama, we’re all gonna be cheerful.”

They all nodded and fixed smiles on their faces. John-Boy was relieved to see that the truck was gone. At least everyone would get some practice at being cheerful before their father got home.

Ep Bridges spent most of the morning at the Claybournes’. But for all the good it did, he might just as well have stayed at home. Mrs. Claybourne claimed that all their searching of the house turned up the fact that nine more pieces of silver were missing.

“And they’re very precious pieces, Sheriff. Not the ordinary ones I use every day.”

“Well, Mrs. Claybourne, I’d say that should give you even less reason for suspectin’ John Walton. I don’t see how he could of walked out of here with eleven pieces without anybody seein’ him. A man’d need a suitcase for that kind of load.”

“Not if he made two trips, Sheriff. And that’s exactly what Mr. Walton did. After his first visit, he claimed he had to come back because the refrigerator needed a new part. And we have no way of knowing if that was true, do we? It could simply have been an excuse to get back in the house again.”

“I talked to Ike Godsey, Mrs. Claybourne. A new part was ordered for your refrigerator, and John picked it up.”

“That only proves to me that he planned the whole thing very carefully. Apparently it was not an impulsive act after all.”

Sheriff Bridges felt a little sick. He was sitting in the Claybournes’ fancy house, sipping coffee from little cups that probably cost ten dollars each, and this “grand” lady was slandering a man who had more integrity in his little finger than she had in her whole family. He put the cup down, wiped his hands on the linen napkin and tossed it on the table.

“Mrs. Claybourne, John Walton is not your man. I want you once and for all to simply take my word for that.”

“I am aware of the fact that he is your friend, Sheriff Bridges, and I understand your loyalty to him. But you see, there simply hasn’t been anyone else here.”

Ep nodded and rose. “You’re gonna need more evidence than that before I can put a man under arrest, ma’am.”

“Then what am I to do? Simply stand by while all my good silver vanishes into thin air?”

“For the time bein’, I’d suggest you put it all under lock and key.”

“That’s well and good, Mr. Bridges. But that doesn’t bring back what’s already been stolen.”

Ep’s feeling of depression wasn’t helped any when he walked into Ike Godsey’s an hour later. He had hoped to have a short, friendly game of pool so he could mull over some things in his mind. But the only person in the store besides Ike was Dodge Evenhauer, and he was knocking pool balls around waiting for someone to play with.

If there was one man in all of Walton’s Mountain who would have a hard time finding someone to loan him a nickel, Ep guessed it would be Dodge Evenhauer. Dodge was about thirty-five, and a decent enough-looking man. But because he had never amounted to much himself, he was always working hard at pointing out the faults of everyone else in Walton’s Mountain.

Ike was totaling up accounts behind his counter when Ep came in. “Hey, Ep.” He winked and tossed his head toward the rear of the store. “Dodge Evenhauer’s back there wantin’ a game.”

Ep nodded wearily and headed back.

“Hey, lookin’ for some competition, Sheriff? Shoot you some eight-ball for fifty cents.”

“Gamblin’ on pool’s against the law, Dodge.”

Sheriff Bridges would have had a hard time counting all the pool games he’d played for money. But those were all with honest men. With Dodge Evenhauer, the only contest was seeing how many times you could catch him cheating.

“OK,” Dodge smiled, “then just for fun?”

Ep nodded and got a cue. “Go ahead and break ’em.”

Dodge racked up the balls and gave them a hard break, but none dropped. Ep lined up a shot and eased the cue slowly back.

“Well, how’s it feel, Sheriff, to find out that our local man who can do no wrong ain’t no different from the rest of us?”

Ep took a minute to steady his cue again. He shot and missed. “What’re you blatherin’ about, Dodge?”

Dodge grinned and curled over the table. “Well, who’d’ve thought good old upstandin’ John Walton would end up on the wrong side of the law?”

Ep felt his stomach turn sour. “Dodge, did you know Olivia Walton’s got polio?”

“Yeah, that’s too bad. You figure that’s a good enough reason for John to be stealin’ stuff?” Dodge smiled and circled the table for another shot.

“Dodge, I’d strongly recommend you just keep your mouth shut on things you don’t know nothin’ about.”

Dodge dropped another ball. “You don’t have to get so touchy, Sheriff. It’s pretty common knowledge around. And it don’t look like you got no other suspects. Don’t see why you’re holdin’ back on arrestin’ him. Course now he’s your friend, ain’t he.”

Ep nodded and watched him make another shot. “As I recall, Dodge, you get your firewood from John Walton.”

“Yeah. So what?”

Dodge finally missed. Ep moved around the table and lined up a shot. “You wouldn’t happen to be a little behind in payin’ him, would you?”

“Well, now, I reckon everybody owes somebody these days, Sheriff.”

Ep made a smooth bank shot. He straightened and gave Dodge a cool smile. “That’s true enough, Dodge. But not everybody’s so quick to look for a way never to have to pay up.”

Dodge seemed to have no answer for that. He finally grinned and shrugged. Then they both looked up as the bell tinkled on Ike’s door. Ep smiled to himself and lined up another shot. It was John Walton.

He heard Ike and John’s greetings, but they were short. Then John was standing in the pool room, a determined look on his face.

“Dodge, I saw your flivver parked out front. I been callin’ around on all my owin’ customers. Your bill’s four dollars, and you’ve owed since November.”

Ep glanced over at Dodge. But the man was suddenly cocky again.

“Well, John,” he smiled, “Maybe I should just send the money on to your lawyer.”

The movement came fast. But the angry twitch in John Walton’s mouth was warning enough, and Ep got between them. He caught the wrist at the same moment John’s hand clamped onto Dodge’s shirt front. Dodge Evenhauer was lucky. If John Walton had thrown a punch, there would have been no way for Ep to stop it.

“Take it easy, John,” Ep said.

There was a tense moment when Ep wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Then the hand came off the shirt and Dodge backed away, his face pale.

“Dodge,” Ep said, “Maybe it’s you who better be gettin’ a lawyer. Not payin’ your debts is against the law, too. Now get out of here and get on with your business.”

Dodge stood for a minute, as if groping for some kind of a face-saving remark. Then he scooped up his jacket and strode away.

“I should have hit him,” John muttered when the door finally banged shut.

“That man ain’t worth skinnin’ your knuckles on, John.” Ep moved slowly around the table retrieving balls from the pockets. “John, I got a phone call early this mornin’. Seems like you was seen in Charlottesville the day you fixed the Claybournes’ refrigerator.”

“Is that against the law?”

“No. And don’t take me wrong. I still ain’t sayin’ you stole nothin’.” Ep put his pool cue in the rack. The whole situation was delicate, and he didn’t want to get John’s blood boiling again. But he’d also like some information. “John, in times like these a man sometimes has to do things he never thought he’d do under other circumstances. And a man’s family comes first. If I had a wife who was sick—well—I can see myself having to—I can see myself bein’ tempted.”

Ep didn’t expect any sudden confession from John Walton. But he thought this might at least soften him up a little. The last thing he expected was the easy smile that came to John’s face.

“That’s a funny thing for you to say, Ep. Because, frankly, I can’t see you bein’ tempted by anythin’.”

It took Ep a minute to digest the statement. But that time, John Walton was already passing by Ike and going out the front door. But Ep continued staring after him, wondering—certain now that he was right in what he had told Mrs. Claybourne.

But damn it, he thought, that still didn’t tell him who took all that silver.

Mary Ellen’s remark about their father having come home with the new bed jacket the same day the silver was supposedly stolen had given John-Boy’s memory an unpleasant jolt. There had been more than a new bedjacket. That was also the day the truck suddenly had two new tires.

“You sell some firewood, Daddy?”

John-Boy distinctly remembered Jason’s question. But what had his father answered? It was something about the Claybournes. He had said, “No, but I got the Claybournes’ refrigerator fixed.”

What did that mean? It really meant nothing. If the Claybournes had paid him enough to buy the tires and the bedjacket, he would have said so. Wouldn’t he?

John-Boy wrestled with the questions all through the afternoon and past supper. Of all the children, he guessed he was the least successful at maintaining a cheerful face in front of his mother. But she didn’t seem to notice.

G. W. Haines made an appearance late in the day and stayed for supper. Nothing was mentioned about the Claybournes’ missing silver, but John-Boy had the feeling G. W.’s visit was his way of showing the Waltons he was on their side. John-Boy felt grateful.

After G. W. went home and all the paraphernalia from their mother’s treatment was cleaned up, John-Boy wandered out to the barn. For awhile he watched Chance munching quietly in her feed bin. Then he moved to the barn window and gazed out at the mountains.

It was a chilly, moonlit night. A scattering of high clouds drifted silently across the sky, and their shadows made big blotches that slowly crept up and slid past the tops of the hills. Farther away, the mountains seemed to have a phosphorescent lining along their ridges.

John-Boy had an ominous feeling about how things were going to turn out.

His father certainly couldn’t have taken that silver. But where did he get the money for the tires and the bedjacket? Had he made some collections from people who owed him for firewood? Or, maybe, had he won it in a poker game and he was ashamed to admit it? John-Boy had heard stories about big poker games going on down in Charlottesville. But his father couldn’t have been down there more than an hour or two.

Why did all this have to happen now, John-Boy wondered miserably. Everybody couldn’t keep slinking around trying to keep it a secret from their mother forever. And he was already having doubts about her recovery. It was possible, he was now coming to realize, that they could go on and on with the treatments, only to have her legs finally wither away into lifeless stumps. There was no God looking after them, and there was no immutable law of justice that guaranteed any reward in return for their mother’s persistence and suffering.

John-Boy leaned heavily on the window sill and closed his eyes, trying to deny this conclusion. If she didn’t recover, he had the dark feeling that the whole family might be doomed far worse than the misfortune of his mother being crippled. It seemed like there were already signs of it.

“John-Boy?”

The voice was soft, and almost directly behind him. He turned sharply.

His father must have been standing there for some time. His hands were in his back pockets and he was gazing distantly through the window.

“Hi, Daddy.”

His father moved up and leaned on the sill. “Pretty night.”

“Yes, it is.”

His father took a deep breath and looked at his hands. “I shouldn’t have sent you in the house the other night.”

His father’s harsh command that night hadn’t really bothered John-Boy that much. He knew the anger was mostly directed at Sheriff Bridges. “I trust you, Daddy. And I believe in you. But—but sometimes I’m not even sure you want me to.”

“I didn’t take the Claybournes’ silver, John-Boy.”

“You know I didn’t think that, Daddy. But it’s—it’s as if you don’t trust me the way I do you.”

“I’m sorry, John-Boy. I know it looks that way. But I did somethen’—somethin’ I’m not too proud of.”

“Then why can’t you trust me? If somethin’ was botherin’ me, you’d expect me to tell you about it.”

His father gazed at the mountains for a long time. “It doesn’t directly concern you, John-Boy. It doesn’t concern anybody but me—and one other person. And that person doesn’t even know about it.”

John-Boy felt a flash of anger. His father was talking in riddles, paying no attention to what he had been trying to tell him. But he quickly choked off any responses, remembering his mother’s anxious words. “Help your daddy, John-Boy. He’s a strong man and he likes to solve all his problems by himself. But even he needs help sometimes.”

“Daddy, I don’t think I know what you’re talkin’ about. But I’ll do anythin’ in the world you want me to. I guess I love you and Mama so much—so much I can’t even say it in words. And I want to help.”

There were suddenly tears standing in his father’s eyes. “John-Boy, there’s nothin’ you can do any more than you’ve just done. What you’ve said means a whole lot to me.”

They stood for a long time, John-Boy wishing he could think of something more to say—or that his father would tell him something to do. His father finally sighed heavily. He put a hand on John-Boy’s shoulder, then moved away.

“Better be comin’ up pretty soon, son.”

Dr. Vance came late the next afternoon. He spent almost an hour upstairs. When he came down he accepted a cup of coffee, and everyone except Olivia and Erin gathered at the kitchen table.

“So far, the removal of the splints appears to have caused no damage,” he said. “But it may be too early to tell. Unfortunately, there also appears to be no change in her reflexes. In light of that, I’m afraid I’m not optimistic.”