The Waltons 1 (17 page)

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to wake up the whole household with a shout of joy, at the same time he didn’t want to move from her side ever again. He held her tightly, rocking her gently from side to side, and then he smiled as he looked over at the door.

His mother was there, blinking back the tears as she watched them.

XI

D
ave Pendleton’s funeral was held at the church the next day. In spite of his long absence from Walton’s Mountain the mourners filled the pews and spilled out over the front steps. Dave Pendleton was greatly respected, and it was well known that except for his first wife’s illness he would never have left the Mountain.

For John-Boy it was both a sad and a reassuring occasion. While the minister spoke of Dave Pendleton’s warmth and love and humor, John-Boy couldn’t help thinking of that night on the porch when they laughed so hard, and Dave Pendleton said there was nothing in the world that could make him any happier than he was then. John-Boy made no effort to stop the tears from running down his cheeks.

But seeing Jenny, and her efforts to console Eula through the service, brought him a renewed feeling of relief and joy.

She had left the house early that morning. She apologized for the troubles she had caused everybody, but everyone in the family had hugged and kissed her and told her how much they loved her. And then John-Boy’s father had driven her home.

Dr. Shackleford permitted Eula to attend the funeral, but as quickly as it was over he drove her and Jenny back to their house. The others quietly dispersed, and Sheriff Bridges walked along with the Waltons.

“Too bad,” he said, “Dave was a good man.”

“You ever find out exactly what happened, Ep?” John asked.

It was just one of those things, the Sheriff told them. Dave and Eula were on a narrow dirt road, apparently taking the long way home, enjoying the ride, and a farmer came around a blind curve in his truck. The farmer didn’t have a scratch on him. But he drove Dave and Eula to the hospital as quickly as he could.

“Say, John-Boy,” Ep asked after a pause, “I don’t s’pose you’ve been out to the Baldwins’ in the last couple days, have you?”

“No,” John-Boy told him.

“Well I’d sure like to know what’s goin’ on out there. Been so busy I haven’t had much time to keep a lookout for Cousin Homer. I don’t s’pose you could run your truck out there and check for me, could you?”

John-Boy looked at his father, who glanced at Olivia.

“John-Boy doesn’t have a driver’s license, Sheriff. And I’m not too fond of his being around bootleggers anyway.”

“Well, Miz Walton, John-Boy’s a good enough driver. I’ve seen how he handles that truck of yours. And I don’t reckon Cousin Homer’s all that dangerous at all.”

Olivia gave the Sheriff a dark look. She didn’t approve of John-Boy driving without a license, and she approved even less of a sheriff who helped young men break the law. And her objections to John-Boy being around the Baldwins’ had nothing to do with the possibility of Cousin Homer being dangerous.

“Let him go, Livvy.” John smiled. “If he’ll be helpin’ Ep round up a bootlegger I reckon we shouldn’t stop him.”

“Very well,” Olivia sighed. “But I don’t see why Ep can’t just go out there and arrest the whole bunch of ’em.”

John-Boy was pleased with the decision. He could make his visit to the Baldwins’ very short—just long enough to establish that Cousin Homer was still there—and then he could stop by the Pendletons’ to see Jenny. When they all got home he changed quickly, wheeled the truck out to the road, and shoved the gas pedal to the floor.

The Baldwin sisters had heard about Dave Pendleton’s death and Jenny’s period of shock. As quickly as John-Boy turned off the motor they were hurrying across from the porch.

“My, it’s just the saddest thing I ever heard, John-Boy.”

“And poor little Jenny. I do hope she’s mendin’ satisfactorily. And Mrs. Pendleton. Just imagine, a new bride, and this terrible thing. I just sometimes wonder at the good Lord’s way of managin’ things.”

One on each arm, they escorted John-Boy into the parlor where they insisted he sit down and tell them every detail of the last three days. They regretted very much that John-Boy hadn’t brought Jenny with him so they could console the poor girl, and then they told him about their papa’s funeral, and how people came from as far away as Baton Rouge to pay their respects.

John-Boy was preparing to ask about Homer Lee when he suddenly came into the room. His white suit was sparkling clean today, and he strode gravely across and took John-Boy’s hand.

“My deepest sympathies, John-Boy. My dear cousins informed me of your loss, and of dear little Jeanie’s distressful ordeal. A shame, a shame. The dear Lord works in mysterious ways, to be sure.”

“Jenny,” John-Boy corrected him.

“Of course. And a lovely thing she is. I trust that she has fully recovered, and poor Mrs. Pendleton is no longer sufferin’?”

The Baldwin sisters smiled with admiration at their cousin’s courtly manners. John-Boy nodded.

“I think they’re both gonna be all right.”

“Thank the good Lord for that.”

Cousin Homer lowered himself into a chair and shook his head. “That such misfortune should befall us at a time when the Baldwin family is about to celebrate a joyous reunion is indeed an ill contrivance of fate. But as the poet said, ‘Sorrow’s crown of sorrow is rememberin’ happier things.’ ”

“Now, isn’t he just somethin’,” Miss Emily said. “I declare, the way Cousin Homer can turn a phrase.”

“Ah, bless you, dear Emily. And it is to happier things I think we should now address ourselves. Nature’s greatest healer is good cheer. Don’t you agree, John-Boy?”

“Yes sir.”

For the first time John-Boy realized how bright and clean the house was. There were fresh cut flowers on every table, and all the old family pictures he’d brought down from the attic were now dusted and polished and hanging on the walls. With sudden alarm he also realized that this was Saturday, the day of the reunion—and the day he was supposed to deliver the battery to Cousin Homer. But Cousin Homer appeared to be perfectly at ease, and the ladies were now consulting their guest list, apparently resuming their excited speculations from before his arrival.

“I just can’t imagine where we’re goin’ to put all these people if they’re expectin’ to stay overnight,” Miss Mamie said. “But then I remember Third Cousin Efram always seemed to enjoy sleepin’ in his car. He’s such a hardy soul.”

“Yes,” Miss Emily agreed, “and I do hope Cousin Cora comes. Remember how sweet she was to come and stay when Papa died?”

Cousin Homer smiled wistfully. “Ah, yes, dear Cousin Cora. Such charmin' feet. A lovely lady.”

“Oh, Cousin Cora’s sure to come. Washington, D.C., isn’t all that far away. Cousin Tyrone is the one I’m dyin’ to see.”

Miss Emily gave her a surprised look. “I thought Cousin Tyrone was the one they had to . . . confine.”

“Oh, he’s perfectly harmless, Emily. It was those nosy neighbors who were so suspicious because he built that chariot and drove it around the place.”

“I would have loved to have ridden in a chariot! Wouldn’t you, John-Boy?”

John-Boy smiled. “Yes’m.”

“Well, don’t you two give up hope,” Miss Mamie said. “Perhaps Cousin Tyrone will drive his chariot over from Buckin’ham County.”

Miss Emily sighed happily. “Oh, it’s goin’ to be such a grand party. I declare, I just can’t hardly wait for the first ones to start arrivin’.”

John-Boy glanced at the big grandfather clock, but its hands were still frozen at twelve minutes after two. He guessed it was a little past noon by now. He cleared his throat and moved forward on the chair. “Is there anythin’ you ladies will be wantin’ me for? If not, I expect I ought to be gettin’ home.”

“Oh dear, now I just don’t know,” Miss Mamie said, looking around. “I do think just about everythen’s been done. But we’d certainly love to have you at the reunion, John-Boy.”

Cousin Homer seemed to come quickly alert. “Ah, now, Miss Mamie, I do think everythin’ is about as nearly perfect as it could be. Your charmin’ abode could be no more refreshin’ and spotlessly hospitable than its present condition, and I can imagine no more gracious hostesses than you two lovely ladies. However, there is one small item, one very last touch of elegance, that I fear we have neglected.”

“Neglected? Is somethin’ wrong, Cousin Homer?”

“Wrong? Ah, ladies, to suggest somethin’ is amiss is an audacity far beyond consideration. It is a small thing, perhaps, but it comes to mind only with fond reflections upon the memory of your dear, departed father.”

“On Papa? I declare, Cousin Homer, I just can’t fathom what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Branch water, Miss Emily.”

“Branch water?”

“Branch water!” Miss Mamie exclaimed. “Why Cousin Homer is perfectly right, sister. Papa always took his Recipe with branch. And a good many of the Baldwins still do!”

“That’s right! I do recall now! How clever of you to have remembered, Cousin Homer.”

“To have forgotten would be the gravest expression of ingratitude, dear Emily. And as I recall, it was a very special branch water, taken from a very special place.”

“Yes. Don’t you remember, Mamie? It was about a mile up the stream, wasn’t it?”

“My!” Miss Mamie sighed. “Do you suppose it’s still there? Papa’s old cup still hangin’ from that dogwood tree?”

“We could certainly look. Cousin Homer and John-Boy could go up the stream. I’m sure they can find it.”

“What pleasure it would give me,” Cousin Homer said, “to find the very cup with which Judge Morley Baldwin so lovin’ly dipped the sparklin’ nectar from that bubblin’ brook. Alas, however, it is a pleasure I must forsake until a more propitious time. My leg, I’m afraid, prohibits contemplatin’ what, under other circumstances, would be a most delightful outin’.”

“Your leg? Have you injured yourself, Cousin Homer?”

“I’ll bet you did it while you were pushin’ the car,” Miss Emily said. “Cousin Homer thought he could get our car started if he could push it out to the road. But the old thing was just too heavy for him.”

Cousin Homer lifted a protesting hand. “A matter of minor consequence, my dear. A small sprain. But I am certain John-Boy will have no difficulty locatin’ the place in question.”

They all smiled at John-Boy. “Of course not,” Miss Emily said. “You wouldn’t mind doin’ that, would you, John-Boy?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been up that stream before, Miss Emily.”

“Oh, you won’t have any problem. It’s a lovely little place in a grove of spruce trees. And you just can’t miss that charmin’ little dogwood at the bend in the stream. The cup is hangin’ right out over the water.”

Miss Mamie was already on her feet heading for the kitchen. “I’ll get you a container, John-Boy.”

“It’s goin’ to be so lovely havin’ branch water,” Miss Emily said. “Cousin Homer, I think that’s just the cleverest thing! I declare, it’s goin’ to make our party just like old times again!”

The container John-Boy carried into the woods was a ten-gallon cask with a wooden bung. He also had instructions from Miss Mamie to rinse it out thoroughly before filling it. The directions for finding the particular spot they had in mind were a little vague. Miss Mamie thought it was about a half mile upstream; Miss Emily thought it was closer to a mile, and Cousin Homer was sure it was much more than that. John-Boy suspected there wasn’t a whole lot of difference between the water downstream, and that running under the dogwood tree with the hanging cup. But it seemed to mean a lot to the Baldwin sisters.

What puzzled him was Cousin Homer. When John-Boy left the house Homer limped along a few yards to get him started in the right direction, and John-Boy told him he would drive into Ike Godsey’s and get the new battery as soon as he got back with the water.

“Don’t worry about it, John-Boy.” Cousin Homer smiled. “Plenty of time to take care of that. And with all the relatives comin’ this afternoon, I don’t expect I’ll have a chance to get away anyhow.” Then he clapped John-Boy on the back and grinned after him until he was out of sight.

Cousin Homer’s enthusiasm for the reunion party didn’t make any sense. At least it didn’t go along with the way Sheriff Bridges had it figured out. If Homer didn’t get the Recipe out of the Baldwin house before all those relatives came there wasn’t likely to be any left for him to sell. And people would probably be arriving within four or five hours.

It was possible, John-Boy guessed, that Cousin Homer had given up the whole idea. Maybe the kindness and love of the Baldwin sisters had inspired him to walk a narrower path from now on. It was not likely, but such things sometimes happened.

John-Boy walked for twenty minutes before he found the hanging cup. There were times when the spruce groves were so thick he had to make long detours around them to follow the stream, and other times he had to tramp through boggy meadows. Then he was suddenly there, at a heavily shaded bend where the dark water made soft sucking sounds as it flowed under the moss-covered bank. John-Boy was surprised; the water did look different. And the old blue-enameled cup was hanging from a piece of twisted wire, dangling only a few inches above the water’s surface.

The water was amazingly cool and refreshing. John-Boy took a long drink and stretched out on the shady grass for a few minutes before he filled the cask. It was a beautiful spot. He wished Jenny had been able to come along with him. But he would have plenty of time to bring her up here. As soon as her stepmother was fully recovered they would have the rest of spring and all summer to explore the brooks and streams for miles around. John-Boy smiled and closed his eyes for a minute. Thank you, Lord, he thought, for bringing Jenny back. And take care of Dave Pendleton. You’ll like him very much.

John-Boy didn’t notice it at first. Lugging the ten-gallon cask down the stream was a harder job than he had anticipated, and when he got to the house his arms and shoulders were aching, and his only thought was to get the thing inside and catch his breath. But there was something odd about the Baldwin house—something not in its right place. And then he stopped, staring.