The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story (16 page)

“But Ep and your Daddy’ll be gettin’ together again. They’ll be laughin over this whole thing soon enough.”

From the anger he’d seen in his father’s face, John-Boy wasn’t too sure about that.

“What I wanted to say, John-Boy, is we shouldn’t mention this to your mother or the rest of the kids. Livvy’s feelin’ good now, and workin’ real hard at gettin’ better. We don’t want nothin’ like this disturbin’ her.”

“No,” John-Boy agreed.

Grandpa rose and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “And don’t you worry about it too much. Things like this always work themselves out in time.”

“I hope so, Grandpa.”

“Supper’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.”

Neither John-Boy nor his father looked at each other at the table. But from his short answers, and the determined way he ate, John-Boy knew his father was still upset. After the dishes were cleared, his father said he would take care of chopping the kindling tonight. Then he disappeared through the back door.

John-Boy found his anger shifting heavily to the Claybournes—or at least to Mrs. Claybourne. Not only was it vicious and unfair of her to accuse his father of stealing, it was even worse to do it when his mother was sick with polio. How could anyone be so stupid and heartless at the same time? He found himself considering the possibility of marching over to her house and telling her exactly what he thought of her.

“John-Boy, what’s the matter with you?” his mother asked when he was helping her with her exercises.

“Nothin’, Mama.”

She laughed. “You look like you just heard the world’s comin’ to an end.”

“I reckon I’m just tired, Mama.”

“Well, you go on to bed. Grandma and I can do this. And Jason, if you’d get your guitar, I’d surely like to hear the “Ironing Board Blues” again. I think the rhythm helps my exercisin’.”

John-Boy was not surprised when his father didn’t go to church the next day. After breakfast he went directly to the sawmill, and he was working hard when they all drove off. But John-Boy was surprised when they arrived at church. As far as he knew, none of the Claybournes had ever attended any of their church services. But in the front row, apparently all by herself, was Amelia.

Until a week ago, Amelia Claybourne had been going to a private school down in Richmond. But last Monday when John-Boy and his brothers and sisters arrived at school, Stuart Lee’s roadster was parked outside, and Stuart Lee and his sister were talking to Miss Hunter, enrolling Amelia in the class.

Now, when he saw Amelia in church, John-Boy felt another wave of resentment toward the family. He and Mary Ellen had made a special effort to help Amelia in school, and make sure she met everybody. Now, it seemed, the thanks they were getting for their efforts was a slap in the face.

John-Boy made no attempt to talk to her. After the service, all of the Waltons lingered in front of the church talking to neighbors for about five minutes. But Amelia left almost immediately. Mary Ellen waved to her when she came down the steps. But Amelia gave her only a brief smile and strode off toward home.

It was possible, John-Boy guessed, that Amelia knew nothing about what was going on. But he really didn’t believe it. After Mary Ellen waved, she certainly would have come over and talked to them.

Mary Ellen finished her dress during the afternoon. After her treatments, Olivia asked her to model it for all of them, and everyone, including John, came up to her room for the show. It would have been fun, John-Boy guessed, if it weren’t for his black mood.

With everyone waiting, Mary Ellen took an extra five minutes to be sure everything was just right. Then, chin high and sliding sideways through the door, she made her grand entrance and twirled slowly around the room.

Jason struck a chord on his guitar. “And from the kingdom of Walton’s Mountain,” he announced solemnly, “Princess Mary Ellen, the most sought-after maiden in the entire empire.”

Mary Ellen curtsied to her mother. “Your Highness,” she murmured, and bowed to the others. “And your most gracious royal court.”

They all clapped.

“Darling, it’s beautiful!” Olivia exclaimed. “It’s just gorgeous!”

“Almost as pretty as the girl inside of it,” Grandpa smiled.

It was about the prettiest dress John-Boy could ever remember seeing. Mostly it was white, with some kind of lacy white material over the shinier cloth underneath. And the pink ribbon they had brought back from Charlottesville gave it just the right feminine touch.

John-Boy noticed that his father was smiling. But his eyes looked distant, as if he was thinking about other things.

“John-Boy, would you dance with Mary Ellen?” his mother asked, “Just for a minute. I’d love to see how her skirt sways with the music.”

John-Boy made no protests this time. His mother was having a good time and he didn’t want to ruin it. Jason struck a chord and sang “The Tennessee Waltz,” and John-Boy bowed and lightly took Mary Ellen’s hand.

Surprisingly, she moved smoothly, hardly resisting his movements at all. It was as if the dress had transformed her into a girl instead of a tomboy, and she suddenly had a natural grace. John-Boy twirled her slowly around, circling the room twice, and then broke away with another bow.

“That’s marvelous,” Grandma said and clapped. “I declare, I think you two should go down to Charlottesville and enter one of them waltzin’ contests.”

Jason laughed. “That’s all fine, but who’s gonna teach G. W. how to dance?”

“I’ll do it,” Mary Ellen said firmly.

“Tell him you want to play some catch out in the woods,” Erin suggested. “Then make him dance.”

Mary Ellen stared at her. “Good idea,” she nodded.

John-Boy couldn’t help smiling. When she was dancing, Mary Ellen was as graceful and feminine as she could be. But when there was a job to be done, she was all business. John-Boy felt a little sorry for G. W.

In their lighthearted mood, no one else seemed to notice their father’s silence. But suddenly he was on his feet, heading for the door. “I reckon I’d better get back to work,” he said as he went out.

It caught everyone by surprise. After a minute, Grandpa glanced quickly at John-Boy and smiled. “I reckon your Daddy’s right. We better be gettin’ supper started. And get this house cleaned up.”

“But we cleaned it yesterday,” Jim-Bob protested.

“Yes, and I found a half pound of dust on the mantelpiece this mornin’.”

“And you’d better get that dress off,” Grandma said. “I think we can still take in a little around the waist.”

As they filed out, John-Boy saw that his mother was smiling at him. “John-Boy? Would you stay and tell me about what courses you’ve picked out to take?”

He stayed and took the chair next to her bed. “I haven’t really picked out any courses yet, Mama. I haven’t had much time to study the catalogue.”

She nodded and looked off at the window. “John-Boy, what’s botherin’ your father?”

The question took him by surprise. But the last thing he intended telling her was the truth. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of anything reasonable to say in its place.

“I reckon he’s just tired, Mama. He’s been cuttin’ an awful lot of wood lately.”

“Wood cuttin’ never made your Daddy tired.”

“Well—I guess he’s worried about you, too. Not worried—I mean concerned. I know he wants like anythin’ for you to get well as fast as possible.”

She continued staring at the window. “You know, John-Boy, the first dance your daddy and I went to, I had a dress almost exactly like Mary Ellen’s. I think your daddy might have been thinkin’ about that. He might have been rememberin’ how we danced and danced. And I guess
laughed
about as much as we danced.” She paused, and for a minute John-Boy was afraid she was going to cry. “You know, it’s hard on your Daddy, John-Boy. It’s hard for a man to see his wife like this. Sometimes I think it’s harder on him than on me.”

John-Boy swallowed hard. “But you’re gonna get better, Mama. You’re movin’ your legs a little bit. And even Dr. Miller said you’re doin’ a lot better than he did when he first got sick.”

She nodded, as if trying to convince herself. “Yes, I’m gonna get better, John-Boy. I’m goin’ to walk.” She smiled anxiously at him. “Help your daddy, John-Boy. He’s a strong man and he likes to solve all his problems by himself. But even he needs help sometimes.”

“I will, Mama. I’ll try.”

After everyone said goodnight, John-Boy sat at his desk for a long time before he put anything in his notebook. When he did start writing, his pen was as heavy as his heart.

Easter is now less than a week away. I don’t think Mama is going to walk to sunrise services. I sometimes wonder—and I think she does too—if she will ever walk again.

This is the worst winter we have ever had; the worst time we have ever had, and I wonder if there will ever be Spring. Grandma and Grandpa pray every night, and I think they truly believe there will be a miracle of some kind. Is there wisdom in their years?
Or do they pray from desperation and despair?

IX

G
oing to school Monday morning, John-Boy felt that things could not possibly get any worse. Before he got home that afternoon he found that they could—a lot worse.

During classes he paid no attention to Amelia Claybourne, and her attitude toward him seemed to be one of complete indifference. John-Boy decided that if she knew about the theft and her mother’s accusations, she either didn’t care, or she was discreetly ignoring it. But at ten minutes past three that idea was quickly shattered.

Normally all the Walton children walked home together. Some occasionally lingered a few minutes to talk to Miss Hunter, or their friends. But the others waited, or walked slowly until the laggards caught up. But that afternoon, after waiting nearly ten minutes for Erin and Mary Ellen, they all headed back. Behind the school they found an angry shouting match—Amelia Claybourne and Martha Rose Coverdale against Erin and Mary Ellen. Erin was in tears.

“If you don’t take it back,” she screamed in a quivering voice, “my daddy’ll come over with his rifle and make you! You’re the biggest liar in all Jefferson County!”

“Hah!” Martha Rose sneered. “If anybody should take somethin’ back, it’s your daddy. And I don’t mean his dumb old rifle.”

“He didn’t steal anybody’s silver goblets!” Mary Ellen shouted. “And you know it, Amelia!”

Amelia was trying her best to look smug and superior. “If you want the truth, Mary Ellen Walton, all you have to do is ask Sheriff Ep Bridges who took them.”

“Liar!”

At the first mention of the goblets, John-Boy’s heart sank. But he didn’t know what to do or say about it. He stopped well short of the shouters. “Mary Ellen, Erin, come on!”

They turned sharply. “You know what Amelia Claybourne said, John-Boy?! She said—”

“I know. Now, come on. They don’t know what they’re talkin’ about.”

“You’ll find out,” Martha Rose said with a sickening sweet smile. “When you get home, just ask your daddy.” With that, both she and Amelia turned away.

“I’ll ask him to come over and whip you and your daddy, and your whole family,” Mary Ellen shouted after them.

“Come on, Mary Ellen.”

When he finally got them headed for home, John-Boy had no choice but to explain it. Even if he could have kept Erin and Mary Ellen quiet, the others had heard enough to demand answers.

He told them that Sheriff Bridges came two nights ago and told their father that two goblets were missing from the Claybournes’ house. He knew very well that their father didn’t take them, but because he was the only caller at the house, Mrs. Claybourne came to the dumb conclusion that he might have taken them. Anyhow, John-Boy said—hedging a little—Sheriff Bridges was just asking their father if he might have some idea where the goblets were.

“Then that’s why Daddy’s been actin’ so strange,” Jason said.

“Yes. He was mad that Mrs. Claybourne would think he might have taken the things.”

“I hate that old lady,” Jim-Bob muttered.

“Me too!” Elizabeth said.

John-Boy nodded, at the same time trying to think. He had to impress on them how important it was for their mother not to hear about it. And he had no idea what his father would do if he heard the story was being spread all over the place.

“Now listen—all of you. While there’s not much reason to be thinkin’ too favorably about the Claybournes right now, we all have to be as grown up about this as we can. We can’t waste our time hatin’ people. And the most important thing is we can’t let Mama hear about any of this. You understand?”

They all nodded glumly.

“But John-Boy, how can that woman say such a thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s gettin’ old and crazy. But that’s not important right now.” He looked around at each of them. “Is there anyone here who thinks Daddy stole those goblets?”

“No!” they chorused.

“That’s crazy!” Jason said.

“Of course it’s crazy. We know it’s crazy, and pretty soon everybody’ll know it. So we just gotta be patient, and not get mad when people like Martha Rose and Amelia say things. We just gotta show ’em we’re stronger and got more good sense than they have. And we do that by keepin’ our mouths shut.”

John-Boy hoped he got the point across. All of them except Ben were nodding. He stumbled along with his hands in his pockets, frowning.

“Do you agree, Ben?”

“Yeah. But I was thinkin’ about somethin’.”

“What?”

“Well, you know yesterday, when I went out to deliver some of my magazines, two of my customers canceled their subscriptions. They took the magazines I brought, but they said they didn’t want any more. They said they couldn’t afford it.”

John-Boy’s heart sank again. But if someone like Martha Rose Coverdale knew all about the accusations, he supposed everybody in Walton’s Mountain knew—or would know soon enough.

“Maybe they were tellin’ the truth,” John-Boy said, “Maybe they couldn’t afford it.”

“I don’t think it was that. They acted real funny when they told me. Kind of unfriendly.”

“When does Mrs. Claybourne say Daddy took the goblets, John-Boy?” Jason asked.