Down by the River (11 page)

Seeing men? Elmer thought. What was that supposed to mean? He didn’t dare ask.

“So, I’m going to need a little help with this,” she
said. “I don’t want to have to entertain Edward all the time, all on my own. He’s going to come in just before Thanksgiving. He’ll take a commuter flight into Rockport and we’ll pick him up. Show him the town. Have a dinner or two to introduce him around.”

Elmer noticed that his sister had two bright spots on her cheeks that might not be a result of either her martini or her rouge. Myrna was eighty-four, and if he wasn’t mistaken, smitten.

“I want everyone to like him. Who knows how long he’ll choose to stay on with me. We have so much in common.”

Elmer glanced at the pot on the stove. “Does he cook?”

“I haven’t any idea, but don’t worry about that. I do. And Endeara and Amelia enjoy cooking, so he’ll be well fed.”

Elmer leaned toward his sister. “Myrna, dear, does this relationship hold the possibility of becoming, well…
physical?
”

She let out a burst of cackling laughter that caused her springy white hair to tremble. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot! Why, Elmer? Did you want to have a talk with me about birth control?”

Elmer stood up. He was tired from his long day and he’d paid his dues here, listening to the details of Myrna’s latest project. “I look forward to meeting your guest,” he said, but he thought he’d do a little investigating first to make sure this gentleman was
completely legitimate. Perhaps a quick call to his publisher or agent? “Does he play poker?”

She tilted her head. “I don’t believe we’ve ever discussed it….”

“Now, that would be entertaining. Speaking of poker, what was Harry doing here? You’re not having a religious crisis, are you?”

“Don’t be silly, Elmer. He just stopped by to say he can’t play cards on Thursday. Some sort of family business is keeping him occupied in the Bay Area. He said he didn’t think there’d be a problem with us using the rectory, but frankly, everyone is a bit too tied up at the moment, wouldn’t you say? With you covering for June in the clinic, Sam and Judge trying to speed up the repairs at the Forrest house and… why, I’m going to have to have a few things done around here to get ready for company.”

“I guess that’s right,” Elmer said. He twisted a few more kinks out of his back. “Harry’s been a little down in the mouth lately. I hope he doesn’t have a sick relative.”

“He didn’t say. He just needed a little advance on his paycheck and said he’s sorry he’s had to be out of town so much lately.”

Elmer stopped in his tracks. He’d given Harry a small loan also. But Myrna was loaded, and that’s why she took watching. She could be so trusting, so oblivious. For someone who did such damn fine plotting of mysteries, she never questioned the motives of friends and neighbors, nor even strangers.
“You didn’t give him a lot of money, did you?” Elmer asked.

“No, of course not. He said a thousand would tide him over nicely.”

When Jim got home from his day of labor at Chris Forrest’s house, he found June sitting on the couch in the living room with shopping bags and purchases draped over every spare surface. There were clothes for her, for the baby, blankets, towels, linens, toys. And she had tears in her eyes. “Look what I’ve done,” she said, looking up at him.

He tried not to overthink the tears. There had been a lot of tears. He had been told that it was normal for pregnant women to eat too much, sleep too much and then too little, and have erratic emotions. “Well, since you’ve gone and done all this, you might as well have the baby.” He lifted a bra that seemed to be falling apart with flaps instead of cups. He caught himself before saying, “Oh, now this is attractive.”

“Nursing bra,” she said.

“Ah. That explains it.” He splayed the cup with his spread fingers and found it, well, optimistic.

She sniffed and blew her nose. “I’ll grow into it,” she said.

“Do you mind if I ask why you’re crying? And if you’d rather not talk about it…”

“Nancy Forrest took me to find all this stuff. After she fed me a huge, juicy hamburger that put George’s to shame.”

“I see,” he said, but he wasn’t even close to seeing.

“Growing up I hated her,” June said.

Jim pushed aside some clothes so he could sit on the chair across from June, sensing this explanation wasn’t going to be short.

“Go on.”

“Nancy played with the little girls and I played with Chris, Tom and Greg Silva, who used to live here. Right there, we were total opposites. Then later, when we got to junior high and had more in common because I realized I was stuck with being a girl, she made a full-time job of trying to get my boyfriend away from me.”

He leaned back. History. Women were very big on history. “I think she did, in fact.”

“Oh yeah. You knew that. Well, she’s been through a lot lately, and I’ve only been barely nice to her. Like I’m holding some kind of grudge, which really I’m not. So today when I’m standing in JCPenney with tears in my eyes because I don’t have a clue what to buy for myself or the baby, who comes along and rescues me? My lifelong rival.”

“She’s not your rival anymore, sweetheart.”

“Oh, heavens, I know that! But it’s more than that. See, I have some women friends who are very special to me. Like Birdie, my godmother. Ursula Toopeek. Jessie is like a surrogate daughter to me, and I’ve grown to adore Susan Stone. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. But Jim, I’ve never had a
girlfriend.
Not a real girlfriend you giggle with, barter
secrets with, cry with, call the men in your lives dirty bastards with.”

His eyebrows shot up. He thought he’d been doing very well as her man.

“Oh, not you. At least not yet.” She gave him a tearful grin, dabbing her eyes. “It was kind of emotional for me. Here she has these banged-up, bedridden hellions at home who really need her attention, and I wouldn’t say she got the best deal for a husband. Plus, she’s exhausted and behind in everything. But when she caught me in this little crisis, she dropped everything and helped me.” Her chin quivered and a fresh flood of tears emerged. In a hiccup of wet emotion she said, “I
love
her.”

Oh, boy, Jim thought. There was simply no way a man could ever be adequately prepared for the many moods of a pregnant woman.

“June,” he said. “I have to take a shower before I can think about dinner. Will you come with me? Scrub my back?”

“My stomach will probably just get in the way.”

“It’ll be okay,” he said, standing and reaching for her hand.

“I’m getting a little hungry. Again.”

“I’m not at all surprised. Let’s take a shower, then we’ll have something to eat.”

When she put her hand in his, she knew it wasn’t really cleanliness that was foremost on his mind. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” she asked him.

Though she managed to surprise him constantly, he answered, “Yes. Come here.”

He turned on the shower, made sure there were two towels on the door hooks, then slowly helped her out of her clothes. To his satisfaction, she helped him out of his. They dropped to the floor and were kicked aside.

“If I ever build a house,” Jim said, surprising himself with the very notion, “it’s going to have a giant shower with a bench in it.”

“Good,” she said. She kissed him while reaching around him with the soap, lathering his back. Then his front. Then his lower back…lower front. He took the soap from her and returned the favor till their bodies were slick as grease. “If we tried to do it now, we’d slip and they’d find our bloated bodies a few days from now.”

“Doctors,” he said. “The places your minds wander. Rinse,” he said, still trying to hang on to her mouth.

Holding her was really what he was after, because he didn’t quite know what to do with all the different emotions, levels of energy, various stages of nausea or ravenous hunger—and the tears. But he didn’t have any trouble holding her. It had baffled him many times since her pregnancy became obvious that men would have trouble with this part, being with a pregnant woman. The Madonna complex or some damn thing, where a guy suddenly couldn’t touch his wife sexually because she was now the mother of his child. It eluded him; he’d never found June sexier. He’d never been more
hungry for her. But conscious of the small life between them, he knew how to be extraordinarily gentle, which drove her enticingly mad.

Jim had always secretly known he had this side—this lovingness, this patience and gratitude—but there weren’t many places to show it when chasing drug dealers undercover. If he lived to be a hundred, he could never adequately thank June for letting him into her life and accidentally getting caught with his child. All this was new, and it was refreshingly pure, sweet and miraculous. Without her, without the baby, he might never have known this side of his being, his life. When he thought of the coming years, with this woman, in the beauty of her town, he couldn’t believe his luck. He probably didn’t deserve it, but he’d take it just the same.

He made love to her tenderly. She sighed with satisfaction at the end. He said, “I love you,” when his breathing evened. Then she curled up in his arms, naked on the bed. There was one towel under them and he pulled the other over them.

“That was very nice,” she said. “Very, very, very nice.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I’m very hungry.”

He hoisted up on an elbow. “Is this where I offer to go out into the woods, shoot a deer, dress it and roast it on a spit for you? My queen?”

She liked the way he teased. “How about if you just rustle us up a sandwich?”

“I can do that. BLTs. Or egg and cheese on toast. With…are you ready? Soup. Last time I went to the market, I loaded up on soup. For damp, dark, romantic nights like this.”

“You are the perfect man.”

“I am.”

“Jim? Are you upset that we’re not married?”

He got a panicked look on his face. “You aren’t going to throw up, are you?”

She gave him a shove. “No. Just answer.”

“No,” he said, grabbing her and pulling her tight. “Just as long as you don’t kick me out.”

“’Course not. I just don’t want to get married yet. I want to know you better. I want to feel secure about it. Because when we do it, I want us to say ‘forever,’ mean it and have a good shot at pulling it off. Is that okay by you?”

He smiled at her. Then he kissed her nose and said, “Very okay, June. You just tell me when you think you know me enough.”

“Do you agree with that? About saying ‘forever’ and being sure?”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me when you think you’re there?”

“Sure.”

“Good,” she said.

“June?”

“Yes?”

“I’m there. You go ahead and take your time.”

B
y the time the carpet was installed in the Forrest house, the kitchen was nearly finished. And the boys were out of their hospital beds and sitting in wheelchairs, well enough to begin home schooling. The junior high sent a tutor out three afternoons a week. They were bright, a factor that no doubt contributed to them getting in trouble so often, and would very likely not miss even a semester of school.

Sam paid a visit to the county assessor’s office and learned that the abandoned house he’d appropriated, illegally, for Erline and the children had actually been repossessed for back taxes. It was a lot for a house of such poor quality, but with one quick trip to the bank, he became a landlord. No one knew this. Not even Erline. But it became suspect as Sam continued to work on the house, making it more sound and comfortable. He solicited help from his friends, new and old.

“Why are you wasting your time on this old shack?” George asked. “Throwing good money away, if you ask me.”

“This young woman and her children need a fresh start, and they have to be warm and fed to get it.” Plus, Sam kept thinking, if he hadn’t been fooled by that young Conrad, maybe the little lady and her children would still be in a shelter in Rockport. A place with central heat, plumbing that worked all the time and subsistence for groceries.

“But you’re going to sink your money into this firetrap and then she’ll just move out and leave it sit vacant again,” Elmer argued.

“We aren’t completely sure about that, now. Maybe she’ll stay, make a home for herself and the children,” Sam said—and Sam hoped. He’d come to think of Erline as a quality girl who deserved a break.

“You taking another shine to a younger woman, Sam?”

“Oh, Doc, you can believe I’ve learned that lesson. I just want to lend a hand.”

“What if someone comes along and claims the property?” Jim asked, coyly.

“Why would anyone want to do that?”

As the month of November progressed cold and rainy, Jim Post grew more content, and it was not lost on his new friends. He never talked much about the life of law enforcement he’d retired from, but he did mention that until now he hadn’t had the luxury of
this kind of time. Nor had he felt needed in this way. Needed by June, but by lots of others, as well.

Life was changing for June, within and without. She slowly came to realize what John had attempted to do for her by insisting she reduce her work schedule. In addition to guarding her health, he wanted her to take a moment to enjoy this time in her life before it was gone. He wanted her to take the time to contemplate growth, which seemed almost daily, take time to spend learning about Jim, who would be with her from now on. Soon enough she would be as hassled and harried as any working parent, and as John knew, it would only get more so with each passing year as their child or children became more active, more demanding, more
expensive!

June was restless at first, especially since Jim was busy helping around town, having lunch with the guys at the café and so on. It had been a good twenty years since she’d had time on her hands. She began to use it to visit with friends, both the old and the new. She spent more time with Nancy Forrest, and the friendship suited them both. And she spent more time with the quilting circle, who came together to quilt for the women in town who needed them. Nancy, Jurea, Erline, Leah.

Behind June’s back the Graceful Quilters were stitching up a storm for her and Jim, and for their baby.

As the cold rains turned to sleet and, farther up
the mountains, snow, townsfolk filled the wood stoves and hearths with logs and stove pots with hot soup. They huddled against the darkness of winter and warmed to the idea of holidays—the bright spot in an otherwise dour time of year. Spirits began to slowly rise in anticipation of family, food and fun.

But there was one person who didn’t get cheerier as the season of Thanksgiving grew near. Harry Shipton carried his burdens in solitude, or so he thought. He grew increasingly depressed, finding it harder and harder to smile through his unhappiness. Even his sermons became less uplifting.

Harry had only been at Grace Valley Presbyterian for about six months, but the town had taken to his upbeat and humorous nature immediately. It was such a nice change from their last preacher, and they embraced him. But by late fall, clouds covered his demeanor and it was obvious he was deeply troubled. He wasn’t even making it to weekly poker, when they had weekly poker, and it was well known Harry loved nothing better. He was clearly miserable, but no one knew why. The usual café crowd talked about it.

“I think it might be a sick family member, somewhere near the Bay Area,” Elmer conjectured. “He goes there often, and he’s been needing money.”

“I’ve asked him if there’s anything I can do to help out, but he insists there isn’t anything wrong,” Susan Stone shared.

“We should call the presbytery,” George sug
gested. “Ask them if they know what’s wrong with our preacher.”

“No, George, you must never do that,” June warned him. “Not unless you think he should be counseled or removed. No, we have to find another way to see if we can help Harry. We don’t want to lose him. Everyone loves him here.”

“Then we’ll have to pay very close attention, see if he drops us a hint as to what’s wrong. Has he mentioned the name of this family member?”

“Not a word. But he has mentioned having an ex-wife. Should we call her?” Susan asked.

“I don’t know,” Elmer said. “What if she’s bitter?”

“What if she makes trouble for him with the church?” George asked.

“Harry has mentioned being on good terms with her,” June said. “But I don’t think calling her is the answer. Not yet, anyway.”

“Let’s just keep a close eye on Harry for now,” Elmer said. “If anyone gets a notion as to what’s wrong, I’m willing to do whatever I can to help. I’m willing to bet there’s a town full of those willing.”

Elmer had no idea how close his words came to the answer.

Grace Valley resembled other cities and towns in the dichotomy the holidays presented. On one hand, there was a sense of coming together, a feeling of celebration. Families and friends united first to give thanks, then to exchange gifts and tidings. On the
other hand, it was the worst season for depression and domestic problems.

But even those people most down on their luck were making optimistic plans for the season of joy. Erline and her children were going to join Jurea and her teenagers for the very first turkey Clinton and Wanda would have. The oven was still new to Jurea, but she loved it dearly. She asked for lots of advice from anyone who would give it, and as a surprise, Harry Shipton brought her a sixteen-pound frozen turkey. He stood, gangly and grinning at her door, his arms full of plucked bird, and said, “Jurea, this is for you and your family. Happy Thanksgiving.”

She wept for an hour.

Jurea’s life had been hard and she didn’t expect much from it, so she never complained. But once she’d been brought out of the woods with her children and embraced by the town and the church, her life had changed in so many wonderful ways that she had trouble believing it wasn’t all a dream.

She sent Wanda next door to get Erline and the babies, to show them the turkey. Erline was likewise moved to tears, but fortunately she didn’t take up all day with weeping. “I don’t have a workable kitchen,” Erline said, “but I can help you with some things like potatoes. I used to do the potatoes for my stepmother when I was a young girl. Both the white and the yams.”

So the women got down to the nitty-gritty of planning out the food. They asked Harry to come to dinner, but he disappointed them by saying that he’d
be visiting extended family in the Bay Area, back in time for an evening Thanksgiving service for those residents who could push back from the table and lumber over to the church.

This would be the first Thanksgiving for Leah Craven and her five children after the death of her abusive husband. Even though they were clearly better off without him, holidays were not easy. It was a strange confusion, and the Craven family didn’t exactly understand it, but while they gave thanks there would be no fighting and hitting on one of the holidays that almost guaranteed it, there was also a cloud of sadness. So when there was a knock at the door and Leah looked out to see Harry Shipton’s old station wagon in front of the house, she swung open the door optimistically, hoping Harry would have some helpful and supportive words for her.

“Hi, Leah. This is for you,” he said, presenting her with a twenty-pound frozen bird. “I hope you don’t already have one.”

Leah kept better control of her grateful tears than Jurea had. But the truth was, she was worried about the meal. There was so little money, just what the garden could earn in summer and what she and Frank earned at the café.

Harry had to decline yet another invitation.

The pastor drove around the town and rural area of Grace Valley delivering a few more turkeys. The congregation bought them and a small committee
came up with the list of families who should get them, but they left it to Harry to deliver them. Everywhere he went he was met with pure joy and gratitude. Not only that, people were always happy to see him. He was drawn into their homes, embraced with the love they had for him, and he a newcomer at that. At every home he was begged to come to dinner. There was no mistaking the genuineness of these offers, of this outpouring.

He only wished he deserved it.

June, who for the first time she could remember, had time to plan in earnest for a holiday, also had a friend to get it ready with. Nancy Forrest had a new kitchen and a white thumb for baking. The women spent the Tuesday afternoon before the holiday meal baking pies and homemade bread.

“You’ll never know what a treat it is for me to look around your new home and think about what Jim might have done. This is a whole new life for him,” June said.

“What was his life like as a cop?”

“I’m learning about that a little at a time,” June said, avoiding the truthful parts that were actually secret. “He was just a kid when he started back in Wisconsin, first in a little rural village, then in Madison, where he grew up. He said it was all he’d ever wanted to do, but once he’d put in twenty years, he was ready to move on.”

“To Grace Valley of all places?” Nancy asked as she rolled out dough.

“Oh, you know that story, right?”

“I’m not sure….”

“He was camping out in the woods with friends when one of them got hurt. Accidentally shot. Jim brought him into town, saw lights on at the clinic, and while I picked a bullet out of his shoulder, we fell in love.” She smiled sentimentally. “Jim fainted.”

Nancy had stopped rolling. “Well, jeez. Isn’t that romantic.”

“I thought it was.”

“But what made him decide to stay here?”

“He didn’t stay here, he went back to work,” June explained. “He visited a couple of times, told me he just about had his twenty years in, but really, I didn’t have any expectations.” Nancy made a dubious face. “Okay, I might have
had
them, but until I told him I was pregnant and he came back and said he was here for good, I wasn’t sure that would happen.”

“And you’re happier than you ever expected to be?” Nancy asked.

Just as June was about to answer, the front door opened and Chris walked in. He wore a ski jacket over his shirt and tie and carried his briefcase. He smiled and said, “Hey, ladies,” but didn’t hang around to talk. He passed right through the living room, headed for the back of the house. Maybe he’s going to see the boys, June thought. Or to change clothes.

She looked at Nancy and saw her eyes glued to the empty space that had marked Chris’s passage. She bit her lip, troubled. Then she looked at June and said, “Excuse me a sec,” and, wiping her hands on a dish towel, followed him.

By the time she came back, June had the rolled-out crusts lining four pie pans. Nancy had a look on her face that made June think maybe she should leave.

“Problems?” the doctor asked carefully.

She shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Um, should I…I could put these pies in and leave, come back and pick them up tomorrow?”

“No, let’s finish. You can watch me drink a glass of wine.” She forced a smile. “Next time we’re alone, I’ll tell you all about my husband and his current crisis,” she whispered.

“He’s having a crisis?” June whispered back.

Nancy leaned across their work space to get closer to June. “June, this is Chris Forrest. You remember him. He’s been having one crisis after another since I met him in the eighth grade.”

Which made June laugh, which made Nancy laugh, which, before long, had them laughing hysterically at the laughter as well as the subject. June had to hold on to her stomach while it shook. Then June’s hand went suddenly to her startled mouth and, stricken, she said, “Oh! I think I peed my pants!”

The highlight of the Thanksgiving holiday for the Hudsons, and quite a few curious townsfolk, had to
be the arrival of Edward Mortimer, the first known suitor for Myrna Hudson Claypool in twenty years. Elmer and June were comfortable that Morton Claypool had just wandered off and was most likely deceased by now, but there were still quite a few residents in Grace Valley who thought Myrna might have done him in. Imaginations had run wild all over town not long ago when bones had turned up under Myrna’s rhododendron, and very likely fell in disappointment when Myrna was absolved of any wrong-doing.

But this guest, Edward, was being met with much enthusiasm. He was coming by bus from San Francisco on the busiest travel day of the year. Elmer drove Myrna’s big Caddy to the Rockport bus station while June and Jim, as support staff, went in Jim’s pickup. The bus depot, usually a fairly quiet place, was brimming with people traveling to and fro for the holiday.

Myrna was decked out in her cashmere coat with the fox-tail collar and one of her very favorite hats, a black velvet with a wide brim, gold lamé band and a poinsettia. Her wiry white hair was tucked neatly underneath and her cheeks and lips were rosy with rouge and excitement.