The Waltons 1 (11 page)

“What a marvelous old chimney,” Jenny said quietly. She stepped carefully over a log and stood in what would have been the center of the cabin. “Just think, a man and a woman once stood right there and warmed themselves in front of the fire. And children played here on the floor.” She shook her head. “Why I’ll bet the woman cooked right there in the fireplace!”

“Probably,” John-Boy said. “Everythin’ was make-do back in those days.”

Jenny moved to a far corner, then turned around, surveying the area. “What were their names?”

“His was Rome. Hers was Rebecca-Lee.”

Jenny smiled and crossed to the hearth of the fireplace. She reached in, as if stirring something in a huge cooking pot, then looked sternly over at him.

“Rome Walton, your supper’s ready!”

John-Boy stared at her for a minute, then stepped over a log and crouched, as if defending the cabin with a rifle. “Can’t come right now, Becky-Lee! Indians attackin’!”

“My sakes! Are there many of ’em?”

John-Boy swung the rifle, tracking an imaginary target. “Pow, pow! Pow! Not any more, Becky-Lee. I think that’s the lot.”

“You better come to supper now. I can’t keep this venison warm much longer.”

John-Boy gave her a sour look. “Venison! Again tonight?”

“I just cook what you bring to the house, Rome. You want bear steak for a change, you’d better go out and shoot yourself a bear!”

“I shot a bear yesterday! Don’t you remember that one chased you across the cornfield?”

“Bless my soul! I plumb forgot about that one. So many bears been chasin’ me lately I just can’t keep track anymore. Well, I’ll throw this venison to the wolves out there and cook you up some bear.”

John-Boy marched across the cabin with the exaggerated gait of a burly frontier hunter. “Becky-Lee, you’re a good old pioneer lady.”

Jenny’s stern manner suddenly softened as she looked up him. Her voice was barely a whisper. “And you’re a good old pioneer man, Rome Walton.”

John-Boy was hardly conscious of taking her in his arms. The game was over, but in playing it they had said wonderful things to each other. Becky-Lee and Rome Walton had endured the hardships of settling virgin land in a hostile environment and in their experiences Jenny Pendleton and John-Boy Walton had found a tender, enduring bond. Their long kiss, and then holding each other seemed as natural and uncomplicated as might have been the embrace of the cabin’s original occupants.

“I felt terrible last night, John-Boy,” Jenny murmured, “I thought something might have happened to you. Or that you didn’t care. Or that I might never see you again.”

John-Boy held her closer, not trusting his voice. He gently stroked her hair, and then smiled at her as she looked up. He kissed her again, then kissed her cheeks and nose and forehead. “It’ll never happen again, Jenny. Never again. Nobody’s ever goin’ to keep us apart again.”

For another minute they held the embrace. Then Jenny drew gently away and looked at the fireplace. She pushed a lock of hair from her forehead and laughed nervously. “Well, I guess I’d better get these dishes done.”

“To heck with the dishes,” John-Boy said. He took her hand and headed toward the nonexistent front door. “You been workin’ hard for ’leven years now, Becky-Lee Walton. It’s time you enjoyed the scenery around here.”

“But how about the wolves and bears? And Indians?”

“No need to worry about them. I got my rifle and powder.”

John-Boy had no idea what happened to the next two hours. Nor was he certain about whether Jenny Pendleton was really Jenny Pendleton or Becky-Lee Walton, and whether he was John-Boy or Rome Walton. It didn’t make a whole lot of difference. The girl who held his hand laughed and smiled and sometimes stopped for no apparent reason and kissed him. As abruptly, she ran away, and reappeared giggling in some hidden glen. They lay on their stomachs and drank water from fresh springs, and they took off their shoes and waded through cool, shaded ponds. Birds chirped and sometimes screeched angrily at them, and a deer watched suspiciously as they sat on a huge rock overlooking the valley.

John-Boy saw places on Walton’s Mountain he’d never known existed, and each of them seemed beautiful and lush with the sparkling warmth of spring. And more beautiful than all of them was Jenny’s smile, the soft texture of her hair, and the liquid, dancing warmth of her dark-brown eyes. John-Boy held her close to him, and felt his heart clamoring with urgent desire. And there was a moment in which each of them stopped breathing, as if poised on the rim of a deep chasm. But they had closed their eyes and the danger passed.

They must have walked at least five miles. Or maybe it was ten. They had gone down the back of the mountain, through moist-green meadows and virgin forests, and then circled slowly toward home, feeling no obligations to time or place or other people. When, finally, they reached the dirt road and the house came into view, John-Boy released Jenny’s hand.

“I guess it must be about lunchtime,” he said.

She smiled, understanding the need for caution. She touched her hair, feeling the wild flower John-Boy had placed there, and quickly removed it. But then she changed her mind. She put the flower back, hooked her arm through John-Boy’s with a final, quick smile, and then they continued with a respectable distance between them.

It seemed incredible that everything at the Walton house was very much the same as they had left it. The frog pond was now filled, but the same mud-splattered people still surrounded it. Most of them were kneeling, watching the erratic activities of their captives.

“Where you been, John-Boy?” Jason asked.

“Oh, we just walked up to the top of the mountain.”

Mary Ellen gave Jenny a hard look. “You goin’ to help with the tadpoles?’

“I’d like to. What can I do?”

“Nothin’ now. But we’ll be collectin’ some more after lunch. And we’ll have to dig another hole.” Mary Ellen was making it clear that Jenny would get no part of the six million dollars unless she started pulling her weight.

“Children!” Olivia called from the back door. “Lunch is ready. And please don’t track that mud into the house.” She started to close the door, but then held it open for Jenny and John-Boy. “Did you have a nice time?”

It was silly, John-Boy guessed, but it seemed like his mother was looking at him extra hard.

“Oh, it was beautiful up there,” Jenny said. “And so exciting to see where the first Waltons settled.”

“You certainly were up there a long time.”

Jenny laughed. “John-Boy was pretending to be Rome Walton, fighting off wolves and wild Indians. He killed hundreds of them.”

Olivia smiled, her fears suddenly gone. “Well, you two better wash up. You are going to have lunch with us, aren’t you, Jenny?”

“Oh, I’d love to.”

“Mama,” John-Boy asked, “do you think it would be all right if Jenny went with me to the Baldwins’ this afternoon?”

“I’m not in favor of anybody goin’ to the Baldwins’, John-Boy.”

“But you remember what Sheriff Bridges said last night. He’s kind of dependin’ on me.”

Olivia glanced at the two hopeful faces and got butter from the refrigerator. She had heard of no instances in which the Baldwin sisters had corrupted women or girls. Maybe it would be safer for John-Boy to have Jenny along. “I guess it’d be all right. But if you’re goin’ there to work, I don’t imagine the Baldwin ladies will appreciate your spendin’ the time talkin’ to Jenny.”

“Oh, I won’t bother him, Mrs. Walton. And maybe I can help find out something about Cousin Homer Lee.”

“That kind of business is best left to Sheriff Bridges. I just hope he gets it over with fast.”

VII

“W
hy, of co’se! You’re Dave Pendleton’s little girl, aren’t you! Mamie, look who John-Boy Walton’s brought with him this mornin’! Young Jennifer Pendleton! My, isn’t this a treat and a surprise. You two just come on into the parlor and sit right down. And Jenny Pendleton, aren’t you just the prettiest thing! I declare you’re as pretty as your dear mother, bless her sainted soul. And John-Boy, I just do believe you’re courtin’ this pretty little thing, aren’t you. You just sit right over there in the love seat while I see if we don’t have some lemonade in the icebox.”

Miss Mamie carried on the welcome while Miss Emily went for the lemonade. She had Jenny stand in the middle of the room so she could have a good look at her, and then asked about her father and her new stepmother. “And isn’t it nice that you two young people found each other. I declare I sometimes believe such things are all written right down for us in the stars.” She sighed happily and Miss Emily arrived with the lemonade.

“Isn’t this the most frightful mess!” Miss Emily said when they were all settled. On the low table between them were stacks of lavender-colored envelopes and stationery, along with a bottle of ink and a quill pen. “Sister and I have been writing invitations for the family reunion, and there are just so many of them I declare I’m just ovahwhelmed. Just ovahwhelmed!”

Miss Mamie smiled reprovingly. “There wouldn’t be so many, Emily, if we limited our guests solely to family members.”

“I still say Ashley Longworth is practically a family member, Mamie. A young man on the very verge, just the very
verge
of proposin’, is far more than a friend.”

“But you don’t even know where he is.”

“He attended the University of Virginia. Surely they must have kept track of him.”

Jenny sipped her lemonade, delighted with the conversation. “I’m sure the university would forward the letter.”

“There you are,” Miss Emily said triumphantly, and picked up the pen.

“Well, if you really feel you want to see him after all these years, you just go right ahead.” Miss Mamie sighed.

“It is not my desire to see him that is so important, as hurtin’ poor Ashley’s feelin’s if he should hear we had a grand party and he did not receive an invitation.” Miss Emily smiled dreamily. “He had such lovely cheekbones! Don’t you remember Ashley Longworth’s cheekbones, Mamie?”

“No, I don’t remember Ashley’s cheekbones, sister.” Miss Mamie smiled. “But I do remember he had nice eyes. One was green and one was blue.”

“Yes. Think of it. If I had married Ashley this place would be overrun with a whole passel of little children with blue-green eyes.” She frowned over at John-Boy. “Some day, young man, would you bring all those brothers and sisters of yours over for a visit? I just adore children.”

John-Boy had finished the lemonade and placed the glass on the corner of the table. “Yes’m. I sure will.”

“And be sure to have your Granddaddy Zebulon come along. He does so appreciate our Recipe.”

John-Boy nodded. “Miss Mamie, are there any jobs you’ll be wantin’ me to do today?”

“Oh my, yes. The fire could do with more wood, and we’ll be needin’ more jars for the Recipe, and—oh dear, I forgot all about Cousin Homer Lee. Now isn’t that rude of me. Cousin Homer’s just been workin’ himself to the bone in the Recipe room, and we haven’t even introduced him to Jenny.” Her voice rose an octave and she sang out: “Cousin Homer Lee!”

Cousin Homer looked annoyed when he appeared. But the scowl quickly turned to a broad smile when he saw there was company.

“Cousin Homer Lee, you must come in here and meet Miss Jennifer Pendleton. Cousin Homer Lee is from Buckin’ham County, dear.”

“Jennifer,” Cousin Homer said. “A most charmin’ name for an even more charmin’ young lady.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Baldwin.”

John-Boy smiled as Cousin Homer bowed and kissed Jenny’s hand. The sour aroma of the Recipe room had followed him in, and there was a dark stain down the side of his white pants.

“Isn’t he just the world’s biggest flatterer,” Miss Emily gushed. “He just keeps Mamie and me all atwitter around here.”

“Any flattery is but a pale mirror of your true beauty, ladies. If I were a poet I should have to venture no farther than Walton’s Mountain and this enchanted cottage for a lifetime of inspiration.”

Emily sighed. “And he just goes on and on and on. But I declare I could listen to it forever.”

Cousin Homer gave her an indulgent smile, then turned serious. “I’m afraid we have a small problem in the Recipe room, ladies. I seem to have added a double portion of sugar to this batch.”

“Again!”

Miss Mamie shook her head, amused. “Now isn’t that just like Cousin Homer. That’s the third time he’s made the same mistake. I’m afraid he’s just not suited to this kind of work.”

“Well,” Miss Emily said, “we’ll just have to increase all the other ingredients and make a double batch again.”

“Yes,” Cousin Homer agreed. “And we’ll need more jars, of course.”

Miss Emily smiled at Jenny. “We’ve just bought every jar Mr. Godsey has, and they’re all gone already. Isn’t that just the limit?”

“May I see the Recipe room?” Jenny asked.

“Why, of course you can, Jenny. We’d better get those ingredients all straightened out anyway.”

John-Boy had no desire to go into the Recipe room again, but he followed them all through the kitchen and out the side door.

The room was hotter and the odors even more pungent than on John-Boy’s first visit. The gurgling cauldron was almost overflowing now, and a half-dozen milk cans full of Recipe stood in the far corner.

Miss Mamie explained how the ingredients were mixed and the “base nectar” was distilled from the mash. When she finished she looked at the milk cans and shook her head. “Dear me, I think we’re goin’ to need far more than six dozen mason jars. I think at least twelve dozen, don’t you, Mamie?”

“That’s how many’ve been ordered,” John-Boy said.

“Oh? I thought it was six. Well, that’s just fine. Mr. Godsey should certainly have them by tomorrow.”

“And up there on those shelves,” Miss Emily went on, “is where we put the jars when they’re full. Of course we wash them out and use them over and over again. One can’t afford to be wasteful these days. And the Recipe sterilizes them just as pure as they can be.”

They all looked at the shelves above the milk cans. Except for three jars of Recipe in the corner, they were all bare. Miss Mamie’s face darkened. “Now isn’t that peculiar.”