The Waltons 1 (14 page)

Erin came back with the broom. “More’n likely he’ll be right back,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Well if he does, he’s gonna find me waitin’. Can I borrow your shotgun, Daddy?” She stationed herself defiantly between the ponds and the bushes.

In all the excitement, the fact that Erin came to the rescue and drove the raccoon off did not register completely in Mary Ellen’s mind until she had been standing guard for some time that night. Her most immediate thoughts were on the danger posed by the hungry animal waiting somewhere out in the darkness. Her father did not permit her to have his shotgun, which might have put a prompt end to the threat. Instead, Mary Ellen sat cross-legged with her back to the ponds and the hoe at her side.

Erin’s behavior was very strange, she thought as she reflected on it. It seemed like the thing her sister wanted most in the world was to get rid of all the tadpoles as fast as possible. And yet when they were attacked she came rushing out to protect them with a broom. It didn’t make sense. But Mary Ellen quickly shrugged it off. The fact was, most people she knew didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Like John-Boy, for example. Now why, all of a sudden, had he fallen in love with Jenny Pendleton? Jenny appeared to be a perfectly nice girl, and she was pretty and all that. But as far as Mary Ellen could see she wasn’t that much different from a dozen other girls around Walton’s Mountain.

So why all the magic baloney and John-Boy blushing and carrying on? One day he was perfectly normal, and twenty-four hours later he was all dopey and wandering around like his feet didn’t even touch the ground. Such silliness was beyond the realm of Mary Ellen’s understanding.

To her it seemed that boys ought to be more interested in whether or not a girl had some good sense rather than if she had pretty eyes or shiny hair. But that, of course, assumed that boys had good sense themselves—an extremely doubtful proposition, from what she had observed.

The screen door banged and Mary Ellen glanced quickly over her shoulder. It was Erin, with a blanket in her hand.

“Daddy told me to bring you this.”

“Thanks.”

“You goin’ to stay out here all night?”

“Yes.”

Mary Ellen arranged the blanket around her shoulders and glanced up at Erin. She couldn’t see her face, but Erin was standing with her arms folded as if waiting for something. Mary Ellen had an idea what it was.

“Thanks for chasin’ the coon away,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Erin still didn’t go away.

“And I’m sorry we accused you of takin’ the tadpoles.”

“You needn’t apologize.”

“I want to apologize. We were wrong and I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

Mary Ellen felt the back of her neck grow warm. Erin was up on her horse again, acting like the Queen of Sheba.

“All right then, I take back the apology.”

“The only thing I wish you’d do, Mary Ellen, is to withhold your judgments and not accuse people of things until you are certain of their guilt.”

Mary Ellen bit her tongue. “All right,” she said in a measured tone. “But if you hate tadpoles so much, how come you chased the coon away?”

“Because I hate raccoons as much as I hate tadpoles. They’re both dirty and despicable.”

Mary Ellen pulled the blanket higher around her neck and gazed into the brush, signaling an end to the conversation. It was a pure waste of time talking with stupid people.

“On the other hand,” Erin said, turning airily away, “I wouldn’t like to see you and the other children disappointed.”

Mary Ellen watched her go back to the house and disappear inside, then sighed with resignation.

There was a perfect example of what she had been thinking about earlier. Erin would brush her hair every night for the next five years, and then some boy would go gaga over her. Then he would spend the rest of his life listening to her stupid conversation.

In about two weeks, Mary Ellen consoled herself, there would be about six hundred pairs of fat frogs’ legs jumping around in the pools behind her. Then the money would start rolling in, and she would no longer have to put up with all this nonsense.

Sheriff Bridges had done some thinking about Cousin Homer Lee’s request for a new battery. The idea of Cousin Homer Lee not having any kind of transportation available appealed to him very much. From the description of Homer Lee Baldwin he had received from the Richmond police department, it didn’t seem likely the man would hoist anything onto his shoulder and hike down to Richmond with it. Homer was not a violent criminal type, and he seemed to go to great lengths not to inflict any kind of violence on his own body. And he clearly regarded physical labor as a form of violence to be avoided.

On the other hand, if the lack of a vehicle confined Homer to the Baldwin residence, there would be no opportunity for Ep to catch him in the act of transporting or selling bootleg whiskey. It was a knotty problem, to which Ep addressed himself through four pool games with Ike Godsey, and then through several more hours of thoughtful rocking on his own front porch. By the time John-Boy arrived at Ike’s store the next morning Ep was back at the pool table, his solution all worked out.

“You go on and take them extra jars, John-Boy. But we’ll let Cousin Homer Lee stew for a while over his battery. When are the Baldwin sisters figurin’ to have that big reunion of theirs?”

“The invitations all said Saturday, startin’ about four o’clock.”

“That’s just fine. You tell Cousin Homer that Ike’s orderin’ the battery from Richmond, and it’ll be here for sure at noon on Saturday. You got that?”

“Yes sir.”

“You gonna let him have it?” Ike asked.

Ep Bridges was not above injecting a little drama into his police work. Nor did he mind giving the impression that there was a superior intelligence at work when he was performing his duties. He took his time with a pool shot and studied the balls again.

“It’s all in the timin’, Ike.”

“I don’t follow. You give him a battery at noon on Saturday and he’s gonna be long gone into the night.”

Ep smiled. “That’s right. But if he gets that battery at noon, then I’ll know exactly when he’ll be leavin’, and I’ll be waitin’.”

Ep let the statement hang for a while before he went on. “You all just think on it a minute,” he finally said. “All them relatives of the Baldwins is goin’ to be showin’ up around four o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Now you just picture Cousin Homer sittin’ there in that house with a couple hundred jars of Recipe, and him knowin’ all them relatives is on their way. You can just bet your life that old swindler’s not gonna let them uncles and nephews and cousins get their hands on them jars. Noooo, sireee. If that battery’s comin’ at noon, and them relatives is comin’ at four, Cousin Homer’s gonna have that car loaded and out of there as fast as he can. And between noon and four o’clock Sheriff Ep Bridges is gonna be waitin’ with open arms about a mile down the road.”

Ike smiled and nodded his approval.

“So, John-Boy,” Ep said, “you just tell ol’ Cousin Homer not to worry about a thing. That battery’s gonna be there at twelve o’clock sharp without fail.”

John-Boy didn’t give a lot of thought to Ep Bridges’s scheme. More than twelve hours had passed since he had seen Jenny and he wanted only to deliver the new jars and get his work done at the Baldwins’ as fast as possible. With love on his mind it didn’t make much difference to him if Cousin Homer took every ounce of whiskey in Virginia and ran off to California with it. But Cousin Homer was shocked by the news.

“Saturday! Did you say Saturday, John-Boy?”

John-Boy had never seen Homer move so fast. The minute he arrived at the Baldwins’ and started backing the truck up to the garage, Cousin Homer was out the front door and hustling over to him.

“That’s what Ike said. He had to call down to Charlottesville and they told him it’d be here around noon Saturday.”

“But that’s four days off, John-Boy! That’s the day of the reunion. Noon, did you say?”

“But I got the extra jars. They’re all in the back of the truck.”

“The extra jars?”

Homer seemed lost in thought for a minute, but then followed John-Boy to the back of the truck. “Oh, yes, the extra jars. That’s fine, John-Boy. Let me give you a hand there.”

After the jars were unloaded John-Boy reported to the Baldwin sisters and they set him to work washing the outsides of all the windows. He saw Cousin Homer only once more during the day, and the old man seemed to have regained his composure.

“You’re doin’ a fine job there, John-Boy. I’ve always said there’s nothin’ like plain old soap and elbow grease for gettin’ windows clean.”

“They’re havin’ me use vinegar, Mr. Baldwin.”

“Ah, yes, of course. And nothin’ like vinegar for the sparkle.”

Cousin Homer had changed into clean white pants and was wearing a hat and coat now. He gave all the windows an approving glance and smiled again. “Say, John-Boy, a thought has been passin’ through my mind this mornin’. The germination of an idea, you might say. It occurs to me that in honor of the comin’ festive occasion; that is, the reunion celebration of my dear cousins next Saturday, it strikes me that perhaps an appropriate gesture on my part might be the purchase of a small gift for the dear ladies. Just a token, mind you, a memento of sorts signifying my affection along with my gratitude for their gracious hospitality.”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate that, Cousin Homer.”

“Indeed, indeed. And to discharge this familial obligation, I am sure you can understand, John-Boy, that I shall be required to make a short visit to one of the emporiums of Charlottesville. The purchase of an appropriate gift would take but a minute, and I should be back in Walton’s Mountain even before my absence is noted. And upon my return, John-Boy, you would find the fuel tank of your father’s vehicle filled to capacity.”

John-Boy moved to the final window. “I’m sorry, Cousin Homer, but I can’t let you use the truck.”

“As I explained, John-Boy, there is no thought of
my
using the vehicle. It is to be used solely in the pursuit of a charitable act. Surely you wouldn’t deny a small pleasure to those dear ladies who have so graciously provided you with employment?”

If he hadn’t been fully aware of what Cousin Homer was up to, John-Boy would have found the appeal hard to refuse. But Sheriff Bridges wouldn’t take kindly to his letting Homer drive off to Charlottesville.

“I’m really sorry, Cousin Homer, but I’m gonna be through here in a minute, and my Daddy’s expectin’ to have the truck back right after lunch. I just can’t do it.”

Cousin Homer gazed narrowly at him for a minute, then studied the distant hills.

“I’ll tell you what I
can
do.” John-Boy smiled. “Ike Godsey’s got some real nice things down at his general merchandise store. I can drive you down there when I go home.”

“Ike Godsey’s?” Homer murmured. “No, I’m afraid that would not be suitable for the, uh . . . gift I had in mind.”

Cousin Homer moved casually away. John-Boy watched the old man gaze at the empty truck for a while, and then disappear into the Recipe room.

IX

E
ating supper at the Pendletons’ house was much more formal than at the Waltons’. For one thing there were only four of them, which made the gathering a lot quieter. And another, instead of a big table standing in the middle of the kitchen, the Pendletons had a separate room for the exclusive purpose of eating.

John-Boy’s only previous visit to the inside of the house had been the night he and his father entered in search of ghosts. He was amazed by the transformation. Instead of cobwebs and dust and sheet-covered furniture, everything now glistened with polish and had the scent of fresh cut roses and carnations. The tablecloth before him was pure white linen and there was an incredible array of sparkling glasses and silverware.

Olivia had insisted that John-Boy wear his best Sunday clothes for the occasion. She had used a damp cloth to press his pants, and Grandma had carefully inspected his shirt and stitched over the worst of the threadbare spots.

“Don’t see why you’re all makin’ so much fuss about his eatin’ at Dave Pendleton’s,” his father shrugged. “Dave’s lived in Walton’s Mountain long enough to know we don’t act like city people.”

No one responded to the observation. Even the other children seemed to understand that there was something very important about John-Boy’s invitation to supper. While he was not expected to ask formally for Jenny’s hand in marriage, or undergo any cross-examination from Dave Pendleton, there was still the need for some kind of approval. Fathers have ambitions for their daughters. And what did Eula Pendleton, who’d probably spent all her life in the refined society of city life, think about her new stepdaughter associating with the son of a rural mountain woodcutter? Whatever she might think, Olivia was determined that there would be no grounds for criticism of John-Boy’s cleanliness or manners.

“A gentleman always pulls a chair out for a lady, and never sits down until all the ladies are seated. And if there’s more than one fork or spoon, you start with the one’s farthest away from the plate. And don’t ask for seconds, John-Boy. Always wait until they’re offered.”

“If there’s more than one fork or spoon,” Grandpa said, “you bring them extras home, John-Boy.”

“Hush up, old man,” Grandma said. “A little practice in good manners wouldn’t hurt you none.”

“Too late for that.” Grandpa laughed. “Been shovin’ food straight in my mouth too long to start learnin’ how to stick my little finger out while I do it.”

If there hadn’t been so much fuss over everything at home, John-Boy wouldn’t have given a second thought to the evening. But when Jenny breathlessly opened the front door to let him in, he suddenly felt like his arms and legs had all been inserted into the wrong sockets. In her bubbling enthusiasm, Jenny didn’t seem to notice the affliction, and she led him into the living room where Dave and Eula were sipping drinks. After half an hour in there they all went to the dining room without John-Boy having uttered more than three words. Jenny and her stepmother continued into the kitchen for the food, and John-Boy stood awkwardly behind a chair.