Eden Hill (9 page)

Mavine smiled and felt a tear or two of her own. Vee had turned back around to put the little cars away, but before he did, she caught a glimpse of him about fifteen inches taller and fifteen years older. The cap was a good fit. The boy was a good fit too. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything else to have Vee Junior grow up to be just like Virgil Senior.

“Oh, Vee,” she said, giving him a teary kiss, “I just came up to tell you that I love you, and that maybe I’ve been a bit too hard on you today.”

Vee was visibly embarrassed. “Aw, Mom . . .” He turned his head aside. “It’s . . . it’s okay. Sorry about the cigar.”

“Why don’t you have a grilled cheese sandwich and go out and ride your sled? I know the other boys are out
 
—I saw them through the kitchen window, probably heading for the old logging road.”

“Okay . . . thanks!”

“Just be back before your father gets home. And wear your mittens!”

Vee was already halfway down the steps. Mavine looked at the elaborate toy, which Vee had left on the bed. The makeshift sign caught her attention again, so she picked it up.
Osgood’s Superior Service
, she read.

“Vee,” she said, knowing full well that he was out of
earshot, “you’re going to grow up just like your father. And maybe that’s the best thing.”

As she walked back into the hallway, she became aware once again of the smoky odor she’d forgotten. On an impulse, she dashed into her bedroom. The iron, left on all morning, had burned a brown mark right into her new pinstripe blouse.
Oh wel
l
,
she thought,
it’s just been that kind of day.

“I just don’t get it.” Virgil related the lunch conversation to Welby, who had had more experience in such things, and the older man just shook his head.

“Doesn’t make sense to me either. You’ve always been a man of good character. I suspect she’ll get over it.” Fortunately, they were both so busy mounting snow tires that afternoon
 
—“A bit late,” Welby had said
 
—that Virgil didn’t think any more about it until the long walk up the hill at closing time.

“Well, Ticky, what do you think we’ll find?” Ticky, to all appearances, agreed with Welby and just wagged her tail.

What he found was his favorite spaghetti and meatball dinner, candles on the table, and his slippers waiting for him at the door. Mavine threw her arms around him and shouted, “Welcome home!” Virgil felt his face flush and started to say something
 
—then thought better of it. Whatever was happening, he wasn’t about to argue.

The spaghetti was delicious, and later on that night, after Vee was sound asleep, things got even better.

R
EVEREND
C
AUDILL
was tired, and he hadn’t even finished his breakfast. His phone had rung, as usual, at six this morning. At least he could now answer on the extension he’d had installed in his bedroom, without having to get up and walk to the kitchen. Mrs. Crutcher’s telephone call was as reliable as the little Westclox on his nightstand, and didn’t need to be wound up every night.

This time, it had been something more about being too gentle in his sermons, and why couldn’t he be more like Reverend Lewis Pritchett, whom she listened to on WNTC on Sunday afternoons? And couldn’t he please
wear something besides that hideous tie in the pulpit? He’d thanked her for her concerns and gently wished her a pleasant day.

Too soft? Well. He’d once liked the evangelist’s style and delivery as much as she did. When the man had a good lather going, he could bring the Beast of Revelation right into your living room, with the lake of fire thrown in for good measure. Trouble was, after Reverend Pritchett’s last revival in Eden Hill, Reverend Caudill had spent several months patching up the damage he left behind. The man might be a dynamic revival preacher, but a pastor Pritchett wasn’t.

Sure, there were several decisions made at those meetings several years back. Four baptisms, including two adults: a good report to his district supervisor. But one couple in the congregation had threatened to leave, claiming the evangelist’s edge was just too sharp. He’d had to smooth out some ruffled feathers and bandage up some hurt feelings. And move the church forward.

But he
was
a pastor. And as a pastor, he was responsible for his flock and for their spiritual nurture, wasn’t he?

Reverend Caudill reached for the sugar bowl and spooned a generous portion into his oatmeal. The snow was still falling, and he needed more than a cup of tea to give him the strength to shovel the sidewalk and put the chains on his ten-year-old car.

And the tie with the Lord’s Prayer printed on it? Well. It had been a birthday gift from his late wife, the first year they were married. Mrs. Crutcher would just have to put up with it.

Cornelius Alexander gathered up the breakfast dishes from the postage stamp–size table and placed them in the sink. JoAnn was having trouble bending now, so it was the least he could do. The well pump started as soon as he turned on the tap. Hot water, one of their few luxuries, began churning up suds in the tiny sink.

“Neil, when are we going to get a telephone? We’ve lived here for over a month now.”

“Soon. Very soon. It was supposed to happen today, but the installer might not be able to get here with the roads being what they are. I haven’t forgotten about it, JoAnn. I need to make some telephone calls myself.”

“Then I suppose you’ll need to go spend the day in Quincy. Again.”

Her sarcasm was not lost on him. Hormones, maybe? “I’ll need to put the chains on the car and wait until they plow the road. Even then, I’m not sure there’s much that can be done today.”

“So, another day with no phone.” JoAnn Alexander sat in a worn easy chair in the living room. Cornelius had acquired the cushioned seat
 
—JoAnn called it an “upholstered monstrosity”
 
—from a thrift store in Lexington for five dollars, and while not comfortable, it was at least serviceable. The green in the worn plaid fabric clashed with the blond paneling, but then again, nothing else matched either. Someday soon, he assured her, a brand-new couch with real leather would take its place.

He’d made a lot of promises in their two years together, and he intended to keep every one, right back to the first day he ever saw her. They’d met at a fraternity party when she was only nineteen. He was twenty-one, had striking good looks, a ducktail haircut, and a green Ford Victoria, and he
was
an Alexander. What else could a girl need?

A lot more, it seemed. College hadn’t worked out, but business school meant he could still follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and become head of Alexander Motors someday, just like he’d promised. A dream house, the good life. Vacations to the beach every summer and a wardrobe that Liz Taylor would envy. Whatever JoAnn wanted, he intended to give her.

And a houseful of children. They had a good start on that, at least
 
—a promise kept. JoAnn had dropped out of nursing school when she discovered she was pregnant. And when her father found out she was “with child,” as he put it, a wedding was hastily arranged: a short courthouse exchange. The whole thing had taken less than ten minutes in front of the justice. Her mother was more sympathetic, offering to let her come home if things didn’t work out.

They certainly hadn’t worked out the way either one of them had wanted
 
—at least, not yet. In the last year, she’d gone from being a single coed with a promising future to an expectant mother sitting in a trailer in a town that didn’t even have a stoplight. And he’d gone from an impoverished student to a business owner. In debt, yes, but with a prosperous future on the horizon. He was sure of it.

But JoAnn wanted it all. Right now. And they’d argued again last night.

He couldn’t blame her. The Zipco Super Service wasn’t coming together nearly as quickly as he’d hoped, which meant no income. Sure, they were able to draw on a line of credit with Zipco, but everything was behind schedule. And now a winter storm and freezing temperatures. At least they had heat from the little propane furnace.

And a television. The set had come from the same place he’d found the chair, and for only another five dollars. A genuine seventeen-inch Silvertone. It was eleven years old and the little rabbit ears would only get channel three, but it did make a snowy and wobbly picture.

Now if she wanted to watch
Queen for a Day
, at least she could.

With the dishes dried and put away, Cornelius sat at the dinette and shuffled through some scattered papers, trying to decide which phone calls had to be made first. He jotted a list of figures and added up the numbers. The sums were bad. Then he added them again, to the same discouraging result. “JoAnn, we’re going to need to take out another loan.”

She sighed. “How much more are we going to have to borrow? That line of credit, or whatever you call it, has got to run out sometime.”

“It’s not a problem. Once Alexander’s Zipco Super Service opens, we’ll be making lots of money. We’ll be able to pay back the loans in no time. Our grand opening will be spectacular, with clowns and giveaways. It’ll be the biggest thing
Eden Hill has ever seen. Customers will be flocking to our gas pumps, and buying things from inside as well.”

“Neil, all you’ve got now is a trailer on a cleared lot. I’ve got a refrigerator but no groceries, a living room but no couch, and a baby coming but no nursery. And,” she added, “no telephone to call Mother.”

It stung, but she was right. As of this moment, the business was nothing more than a flattened space with little flags, a stack of building materials covered with a tarp and six inches of snow, and a dream in his head. How could something that seemed so right have gone so wrong?

“Trust me, JoAnn.”

“I wish I could right now, Neil. I really wish I could.”

W
ITH
V
IRGIL FED
and happily off to work, Mavine wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. The week had been taxing
 
—she’d taken all afternoon yesterday to prepare meat loaf for dinner and had stayed up to read a bit of Longfellow
 
—so she’d gotten to bed well after her usual bedtime. A short night, after a very trying day. She was tired, pure and simple.

But a morning nap was out of the question. Another snowfall had blown in overnight, but the sun was out now, making it extraordinarily bright outside. The light would certainly keep her awake.

Also, Alma was coming over for lunch today, so she needed to get the kitchen presentable. Virgil’s empty
breakfast plate went into the sink, along with the last of her bottle of Lux Liquid dishwashing detergent. Something was still bothering her, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Virgil hadn’t said anything more about Monday’s unpleasant luncheon conversation and seemed happy enough since, so . . .

“Mom?”

Mavine was caught quite by surprise. Vee was off school again today, but he was up before noon. Still in his pajamas, though.

“I’m hungry.”

Which was not a surprise. At his young age, Vee already had twice the appetite of his father, and even after a big meat loaf dinner and coconut cream pie, the monster in his stomach was apparently growling and demanding to be satisfied.

“Alma will be here soon, and she’s bringing our lunch. You don’t need anything to eat before then.”

“But I’m hungry
no
w
!”

Mavine sighed. “There are cornflakes in the pantry.” She was cooked out, and besides it was high time the boy learned to fix his own breakfast.

“Where’s the milk?” Vee had found the box and an empty bowl, and had managed to pour at least some of the flakes into the dish.

She opened the door of the ancient Kelvinator, retrieved the milk bottle, and slammed it onto the table in front of her son. “There.” It would be up to him to pour it onto his breakfast and add his own sugar. If he wanted a spoon to eat it with, he’d have to get that too.

Mavine stopped. Why was she being so hard on him today? After all, he was only ten, and there were no cigars in sight this morning. And he was used to having his breakfast made for him. Virgil was also accustomed to having his breakfast, lunch, and dinner made and ready. But if her two men were spoiled, it was because she did the spoiling.

“I’m sorry, Vee. I’m just really tired today.”

“It’s okay, Mom. What time is Aunt Alma coming?”

“Anytime now.” WNTC’s eleven o’clock news had begun on the radio. “After lunch we’re going to Gladys’s to get our hair done. It’s Friday, remember?”

Vee finished his cornflakes almost quicker than he’d poured them. Good thing, too. No sooner had Mavine sent the boy upstairs to get dressed and cleared the table than there was a knock on the front door. Alma held a basket with various small containers and several mysterious items wrapped in tinfoil.

“I brought pot roast and potatoes.” She removed a covered dish and held it aloft. “Made it this morning. I thought you and Vee might like something besides soup for lunch today.”

Mavine followed her into the kitchen. “Thanks, Alma. Vee loves pot roast.”

“Hi, Aunt Alma!” Vee had found some blue jeans and a shirt, and had managed to get them onto his body.

“Hello, Vee!” Alma smiled, and Mavine relaxed. “I’ll get this, Mavine.” Alma found a casserole dish and emptied the roast into it, spacing out the carrots and the potatoes to the sides. The foil shapes enclosed homemade rolls that went onto a cookie sheet for warming. She lit the stove and popped the meal into the oven to reheat.

“Thank you, Alma.” Mavine was especially relieved; most of her dishes were still soaking in the sink.

Once the food was warmed through, Mavine removed the pan of rolls as Alma was filling glasses of water. “Vee, would you get the roast? And use pot holders.”

Vee Junior dutifully, though awkwardly and begrudgingly, took the dish from the oven and carried it to the table, sloshing some of the beef drippings as he set it down. Mavine was about to light into him for soiling her best tablecloth when Alma intervened with a damp dishrag.

“Thank you for your help, Vee.” Alma smiled at him. “Don’t you worry yourself. No harm done. This will come out in the wash.”

“Yes, indeed,” Mavine said as she withdrew several items from the cabinet drawer. “Thank you for your help. Put these around, please.”

Vee grinned, then took the forks and knives from her and scattered them around the table. Mavine smiled; she could teach him the idea of place settings another time.

The door opened, and Welby and Virgil entered to join them for lunch, as promised. They all took their places and said grace, then began the meal. Conversation was pleasant, and Virgil seemed very much himself, although Mavine found herself quiet and with little to say.

Alma passed the food to Virgil, who filled his plate. “Welby tells me the new Zipco place is coming along across the street. Are you concerned at all?”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, hiding his expression, but his eyes widened. “Yes, I am, Alma. Mr. Alexander is
building one of those full-service places like the Shell station in Quincy. Moving kind of slow, though.”

“Those things take time, I guess.” Alma set the dish on the counter. With five at the small kitchen table, things had become a bit crowded. “And Vee, how are you doing? Are you enjoying your day off from school?”

“Okay, I guess. I’ve been reading,” Vee said after swallowing the last bite of his third helping. Enormous quantities of beef and potatoes proved his cornflakes hadn’t hurt his appetite a bit. “Mom, can I go outside and ride my sled now?”

“Yes, but be careful. And wear your heavy coat and mittens!” Her admonition was lost; Vee was already gone.

“Vee’s been reading the classics,” Mavine offered as their son closed the door, her spirits lifting from the thought. “Someday, maybe it will help him get into a really good college. Maybe even get a scholarship.”

Virgil looked startled; he hadn’t been able to get his napkin to his face quickly enough. Had she said something hurtful again, without really meaning to?

“Ladies, thanks for inviting us for lunch,” said Welby, as he ate the last bite of the tender beef. “This has been delightful!”

Mavine brightened. “You’re welcome, Welby. We’re always happy to cook for our men.”

Virgil agreed, having regained his composure. “Wonderful! Mavine, just think, if you’d become a teacher like you talked about, Welby and I could only have a tasty lunch like this on snow days.”

Mavine froze, like she’d been hit by Virgil’s tire tool. All morning, she’d thought they’d both been able to come to
peace with the discussion earlier in the week. Here Virgil was bringing it back up again. In front of Welby and Alma. Was he retaliating for whatever she’d said to offend him? It hurt, but she was too tired to argue. Did he have any idea what he had just said? Had she been reduced in his mind to simply the cook for a meal she hadn’t even made?

She stared
 
—no, glared
 
—at her husband. Yes, he knew, at least now, that he’d said something thoughtless and insensitive. He looked like a farmer who’d just made a bad misstep in a cow pasture.

“May I drive you to Gladys’s?” said Welby, nodding toward Alma. “Virgil and I need to get back to work, but I can take you over first.”

Alma, who’d placed the leftovers in the refrigerator, answered for both, and without consulting Mavine. “You know, it’s such a beautiful afternoon, I think we’ll just walk over and enjoy the bright sun. The snowplows have been through this morning and the roads are clear.”

“Well, we’ll be at Osgood’s if you need us.” At that, Welby nodded and eased Virgil out the door on both feet before he could plant one in his mouth again.

Sunny and bright or not, it was still cold. Mavine fetched her heaviest coat and scarf from the hall closet, noting that Vee’s mittens were still in the basket. She tied the scarf under her chin, tucking the ends inside her coat.

While her back was turned, a friendly arm circled her
shoulders. “What’s the matter, Mavine? You haven’t been yourself during lunch, or all month, for that matter.”

“I’m just tired, Alma. Vee’s more of a challenge these days, now that he’s in the fifth grade and has to catch the early bus. He has more homework, and Virgil has to get up early and work so hard, and I have to
 
—”

Alma turned Mavine toward her and looked straight into her eyes. “This has nothing to do with Vee. What’s really the matter? Is something going on between you and Virgil?”

“Oh, Alma, we’re both fine, and Vee is fine. It’s just that I’m coming up on my fortieth birthday, and I wonder sometimes if I made the right choices in life. Marrying Virgil, becoming a mother, not trying harder to become a teacher. And wanting Vee Junior to have more opportunities than what Virgil has had. Nobody’s fault, of course.”

“What brought all this on?”

Immediately the
Pageant
article came to mind, and Mavine chastised herself. After all these months, shouldn’t she have put all that foolishness behind her? But if it stuck with her this long, maybe it wasn’t foolish after all. “I read an article a couple of months back about men neglecting their marriage as they get
 
—more mature. I showed it to Virgil, but I suspect he barely looked at it. Probably thought it was silly. I still love him, and I suppose he still loves me, but sometimes he just takes me for granted. Like today. And sometimes I wish he saw what I need without me having to tell him.” Was she wrong to want that?

“Has Virgil ever done anything to make you doubt that he loves you?”

“No, but he seemed very surprised when I showed him the
article. It was by a famous marriage counselor and had a questionnaire to go with it, and I took the test while I was waiting under the dryer. When I answered the questions, the score at the bottom told me that I could expect more of my husband.”

“Mavine, Virgil’s one of the finest men I know. You know reading has always been difficult for him. He was probably just confused and didn’t understand.”

“But I want him to tell me he loves me. And recognize what I gave up to marry him. I need to hear him say it.”

Alma took her own coat from the hall closet. “Honey, men don’t always know how to say what they feel. He’s showing you love the only way he knows how.”

“But the article
 
—”

“Mavine.” Alma turned to face the younger woman. “Virgil loves you more than you can imagine. Don’t waste a single minute doubting that. And he’s concerned about the new service station going in. Give him some grace and the respect he deserves. Just love him through it. After all, a good man is far more valuable than a successful man, any day of the week. And one more thing, Mavine.”

She stopped to look her older friend in the eyes. In those eyes was great wisdom. “Yes?”

“Never give up on your dreams. Or your dreams for Vee Junior. The good Lord may yet have something in mind for both of you.”