The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story (20 page)

He didn’t know how to respond. The possibility that the treatments wouldn’t work had been weighing too heavily on his own mind. He gently squeezed her hand.

“But if that happens,” she went on, “I don’t want any of the children to feel they have to change their lives because of it. I think that’s the worst thing they could do. You won’t let that happen, will you, John?”

“No.”

“But the worst part—the thing I dread most of all—is for you to have a crippled wife.”

He looked sharply at her.

“No, I mean it, John. Thinkin’ about that is worse for me than any of the pains in my legs.”

“Just quit thinkin’ about it, Livvy.” He laughed. “We been married now almost twenty years, and I’d say I already got about three times more enjoyment out of those years than most men get out of sixty. And the fact is, no matter what happens with the treatments, I intend to keep on enjoyin’ bein’ your husband.”

She smiled and brushed her fingers across the back of his hand. “But I know it’s affected you—my bein’ sick. Especially in the last week.” She smiled. “And I can understand why. It’s hard enough supportin’ a family these days, without havin’ me to take care of. But even if I have to use a wheelchair, I’ll be able to help some. In fact, I been thinkin’ about it. There’s really lots of things I’ll be able to do.”

John frowned at her. “What do you mean, you’ve noticed it’s affected me in the last week?”

“Well, you’ve been grumblin’ around like an old bear. You’ve been short with the children, you’ve hardly talked to me, or Grandma and Grandpa, and—”

“Livvy, darlin’, that’s got nothin’ to do with you. Not directly.” He drew his hand away and rubbed his face, suddenly smiling. “Believe me, Livvy, it’s not you bein’ sick. It’s—it’s somethin’ else.”

“What?”

He shook his head and looked out the window. “Livvy, about two weeks ago I did somethin’ I don’t think I should have done—somethin’ I regretted very much about as quick as I did it. But—well, I’m not so sure now it was really as bad as I thought it was. I mean it’s somethin’ that seemed important. But when you get right down to it, it really isn’t. There’s a lot more important things. I think I realized that tonight seein’ Mary Ellen all grown up and goin’ off to dances.”

Olivia stared at him. Then she couldn’t help laughing. “John Walton, I’ve always thought of you as a man who came right to the point and said exactly what was on his mind. But now I’m not so sure.” She giggled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a confusin’ bunch of words that said so little in my entire life.”

John thought about it, then laughed with her. “I reckon you’re right. That was quite a statement, wasn’t it.”

“Maybe you ought to be a politician.”

“Maybe so.”

She took his hand again. “Does this thing that seems so important, and really isn’t as important as other things—like Mary Ellen growin’ up—does it have anythin’ to do with Sheriff Bridges comin’ here last week?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Well, when you lie around in bed all day, and can’t see what’s goin’ on, you get pretty good at figurin’ out the sounds of things. Did you ever notice that Sheriff Bridges’ car has sort of a chirping sound in the motor? It sounds like he has a little bird in it.”

“I reckon he needs some grease in his water pump.”

Olivia smiled, waiting.

“Well,” he finally said, “His visit really didn’t have anythin’ to do with it. But somehow the two got mixed up. It made things a little complicated.”

“I don’t think they’re complicated at all,” Olivia said with mock seriousness. “It all seems very simple.”

They both laughed at that.

“When do I get to hear about it?” she finally asked.

“Oh. Well—pretty soon, I hope.”

“John Walton, I love you very much. I think you’re a little crazy, but considerin’ all your other virtues, I reckon I’ll just have to overlook that.”

John reached across and touched her face. He’d said he would go on enjoying being her husband no matter how the treatments worked out. Now he knew how true that was. He kissed her, then kissed her again to stop her giggling.

A light knock on the door finally put an end to it. Erin was peering in.

“Mama?”

“We’re over here, sweetheart.”

“What’s all the noise? It sounded like you were laughing.”

John smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re right about that.”

“How come you’ve got the lights out?”

“We’re spoonin’.”

“Oh.” Erin smiled uncertainly and backed out. “Well, everybody’s goin’ to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

A few minutes later, the round of goodnights went from bedroom to bedroom.

“You gonna stay up till Mary Ellen gets home, Mama?” Jason called.

“Yes, I am.”

“Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight.”

It was a few minutes after eleven before they saw the pair of headlights come bouncing along the road toward the house. Olivia took an anxious breath and squeezed John’s hand. “I hope it didn’t turn out too badly.”

“Why should it have turned out bad at all?”

“You’d better put me back in bed.”

John switched on the lights and carried her back. When he returned to the window, G. W. was already headed back home. John wondered if that meant anything—a brief handshake at the door, and then had G. W. bolted for the car?

His heart sank a little when the bedroom door finally opened. The solemn look on Mary Ellen’s face had all the earmarks of a disaster.

“Well,” Olivia asked hopefully, “how was it?”

Mary Ellen closed the door and glanced from one to the other.

“Didn’t you have a good time?” John asked.

She shook her head as if in a trance. “At first, it was just terrible. Worse than I expected. Everybody just stood around starin’ at everybody else.” She smiled faintly. “Then G. W. and I started dancin’, and—and it didn’t seem so bad.” Her smile suddenly became dreamy. “And, Mama, when it was time to go home, I just didn’t want it ever to end! Oh, Mama, it was—it was just wonderful.”

John grinned and looked quickly at Olivia. There were tears in her eyes and she was holding out her arms for Mary Ellen. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so happy!”

Mary Ellen hurried across and they hugged each other. When they separated Mary Ellen’s eyes were bright with excitement. “I don’t think I ever had so much fun in my life. The music and everythin’ was just perfect! And Mama, three boys already asked me to go to the next dance!”

“How did G. W. feel about that?”

“I don’t think he liked it much. He wanted me to promise never to go dancin’ with anybody but him.”

“Did you promise?”

“I told him I’d think about it.” She gave her mother a smug smile and then they both laughed.

John listened silently while the two of them spent another half hour discussing who was at the dance, what each of the girls were wearing, and who they danced with. When Mary Ellen finally said goodnight and floated off to bed, Olivia gave him a concerned look.

“Do you reckon now we’re goin’ to have a dozen boys hangin’ around the house the way G. W.’s been?”

“Livvy, an hour ago you were scared to death nobody in the world was ever goin’ to dance with Mary Ellen. Now you’re scared to death every boy in the county’s fallin’ in love with her.”

She smiled sheepishly. “That’s true, isn’t it. I reckon we just oughta let things happen the way they happen.”

John nodded. “That sounds sensible to me.”

XI

J
ohn-Boy was not certain how he was going to handle the situation. He wasn’t even sure if he had the nerve to go through with it. But he continued walking-past Bee’s, past the schoolhouse, and on out toward the Claybournes’. It was cold out, and the ground was beginning to freeze up again. With his collar turned up, he kept his hands deep in his pockets.

It had to be Stuart Lee. John-Boy had gone over it in his mind a hundred times now, and for anybody else to have taken that silver just didn’t make any sense. He had ruled out Dewey completely. After working for three generations of Claybournes, Dewey had no reason to begin stealing in his old age. And if Mrs. Claybourne had sold the silver herself, it would be stupid for her to call Sheriff Bridges and accuse John-Boy’s father of stealing it. She would have nothing to gain by doing such a thing.

That left only Amelia and Stuart Lee, and John-Boy ruled out Amelia for the same reasons he ruled out her mother. If Amelia took it, she might hope everyone would think John Walton was the thief. But she wouldn’t be crazy enough to broadcast it around and risk all the Waltons getting so mad they would do something about it.

So it must be Stuart Lee. From everything John-Boy had heard, Stuart Lee was trying as hard as he could to minimize the whole thing and stop his mother from ruffling people’s feathers. Ordinarily this would seem like a virtue, and greatly to Stuart Lee’s credit. But in this case John-Boy didn’t think so. Stuart Lee must have taken the silver and sold it, and he was trying to stop things from getting out of hand. That was the only answer that seemed logical to John-Boy.

He had made his decision to confront Stuart Lee early in the afternoon. But the hardest part so far had been getting away from the family.

“You mean you’re not goin’ to the amateur contest with us?” Grandpa asked in disbelief.

“I don’t think we can afford for all of us to go, Grandpa. And I think Grandma would enjoy seein’ it more than anybody.”

“No, I’ll just stay home with Livvy,” Grandma said.

In the end, John-Boy’s father insisted that he stay home with Olivia, and it was agreed that John-Boy would stay with him. As quickly as they all left in the truck and his father went upstairs, John-Boy slipped silently away and headed for the Claybournes’.

It was dark now, and John-Boy’s first sight of the Claybourne house didn’t give him much encouragement. Only one room appeared to be lighted, and that was very dim. Mostly the house looked silent and foreboding. John-Boy slackened his pace as he moved up the long driveway. If Stuart Lee wasn’t home, what was he going to do? He couldn’t possibly confront Mrs. Claybourne with his suspicions. And what if Stuart Lee was home and flatly denied his accusations? Suddenly the whole idea didn’t seem quite so simple as when he first thought of it.

Close to the house now, John-Boy stopped and looked up at the long row of darkened windows above. There was no sound coming from the house. He moved a little closer to the only lighted windows. Then he caught his breath and quickly turned around.

A pair of headlights had flashed across the house. Now a car was coming rapidly up the drive. John-Boy looked around, then stepped behind a large bush and ducked, his heart pounding. My God, what was he doing? If someone saw him here they would probably shoot him for a prowler.

The car’s headlights seemed to be shining directly on him for a minute, and then they swept past. John-Boy cautiously raised his head.

It was the yellow roadster—Stuart Lee’s car. John-Boy watched him get out and slam the door. Then he was coming around the back of the car, moving quickly toward the house.

“Stuart Lee!”

John-Boy startled himself as much as he frightened Stuart Lee. He moved quickly out of the bushes.

“Oh—it’s you, John-Boy. You scared me half to death.”

John-Boy smiled, trying to calm his own nerves. “You been out callin’ on Blanche Weatherby?”

“Well—yes, as a matter of fact I have.” He shoved a hand into his pocket and laughed uneasily. “In fact, I’ve got some good news tonight. Blanche and I are going to be married.”

Stuart Lee suddenly frowned—no doubt expecting an explanation of John-Boy’s presence. John-Boy quickly decided that the only way he could go through with this was to take the offensive. “That’s wonderful news, Stuart Lee. A girl like Blanche Weatherby—I reckon you’ll have to make some changes before you bring her here.” He glanced up at the house.

“Changes?”

John-Boy smiled. “Oh, I’ve seen the Weatherbys’ place. Everythin’ neat as a pin. Grass cut just so—must take two or three gardeners to keep it all so perfect.”

Stuart Lee looked out at his own lawn. “Yes, well—I’ve been doing the gardening around here myself. Helps to keep me in shape.”

“But who’s been doin’ the cookin’? I heard Mrs. Docksteader’s been gone for awhile. I sure hope she isn’t real sick.”

“Mrs. Docksteader went back to Georgia. My mother just hasn’t had time to replace her yet”

From Stuart Lee’s nervousness, John-Boy guessed that he knew very well what was going on. “Must be a million good cooks lookin’ for jobs these days,” John-Boy said. “Shouldn’t take too much time to find one.”

Stuart Lee nodded, then tried to change the subject. “How’s Amelia doing in school?”

“Pretty good. But I think she misses a lot of the friends she had at private school.”

“Uh—look, John-Boy, why don’t we go inside and—”

Stuart Lee headed for the steps, but John-Boy didn’t move. “It’s late, Stuart Lee. And I came over to tell you somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

“Well, maybe we could talk in the morning.”

“I’d rather talk now. You see, I was readin’ a book the other night and the author said somethin’ that seemed real true to me. He said, ‘We mortals, men and women, swallow a lot of disappointment between breakfast and dinnertime. Pride helps us; and pride isn’t a bad thing when we use it to hide our own hurts. But when pride hurts other people—’ ” John-Boy broke off, letting the words hang in the silence.

After all his squirming, Stuart Lee suddenly had a look of weary defeat. When he finally spoke his voice was soft. “You know, don’t you.”

John-Boy nodded. “I know my daddy never stole anythin’.”

“John-Boy, I—maybe I can explain.”

Whatever explanation Stuart Lee might have had was interrupted by the front door opening. Dewey peered out and then shuffled forward. He looked agitated. “Mr. Claybourne—I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes sir, it’s your Mama, Mr. Claybourne. She was gettin’ more and more worked up about those goblets this afternoon and evenin’, and—” He glanced nervously at John-Boy, “—and a while ago she went out.”