O Little Town (9 page)

CHAPTER 16

“How about a couple of pieces of pie to go with those coffees?”

“I don’t think for me, thanks,” said Amanda.

“Me either,” said Dove.

“We have chocolate, butterscotch, and pumpkin.”

“No, thank you.”

“We also have a chocolate layer cake that’s really good today.”

“We’re fine with just the coffee,” said Dove.

“Okay. Just whistle if you need a refill,” and the waitress was off to her duties in the kitchen.

Dove glared at her back till the swinging door she had pushed through was practically still. “There’s a thin line between helpful and nosy. I think she’s nosy.”

Amanda smiled. “Oh, she was just pushing leftovers from lunch. She’s harmless. Anyway, you asked about me. Well, I’ve got a real major mess on my hands.”

“You’ve come to the right place, honey, because I am the mess queen.”

“Shirley Ann is pregnant.”

“Amanda. You don’t mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it. She just told me this morning.”

“Did you have any idea?”

“That’s hard to say. I always thought I’d know. You know how mothers and daughters are and we’ve always been close. So I thought I’d know. And to be painfully honest, I suspected that something was going on. I thought maybe she was getting a little too involved with Tommy Jarvis, this boy she’s been dating. For some reason I put off talking to her about it. Of course, I never thought it had gone this far. Lo and behold, I waited too long. I just waited too long.”

“Tommy Jarvis? I’m not sure I know the boy.”

“Doesn’t matter because that’s not who it is. That’s who she’s been dating but that’s not the father. The father is Louis Wayne Sterrett.”

Dove put her hands to her mouth, sat back in her chair, and sighed a deep and needed sigh. “Honey, you
are
the new mess queen.”

They both laughed laughs of shared relief as only two good friends who never have to explain themselves to one another can.

The snow flurries picked up outside Beecher’s as the conversation picked up at its front table. Dove and Amanda needed each other this afternoon. They were confidants who knew what they said would not go beyond the edges of the small table they were leaning into as they exchanged problems and solutions. After both their hearts had been emptied, and they were about to pay for the coffee, Dove said, “Oh, and something else. Have you heard about Walter Selman?”

“No. What’s wrong?”

“He’s in the hospital. They’ve only given him months to live.”

“He’s such a nice man. What is it?”

“I don’t know for sure. I didn’t ask. You know when they say only months to live, I usually don’t like to delve into it and I guess at that point it really doesn’t …”

“Dove, look!”

Dove turned and looked out the front window. Through the gathering winter storm, she saw her husband going in the front door of Macalbee’s. She turned back to the table and locked eyes with Amanda for just a few seconds. She slowly took off her scarf, raised her hand, and said, “Hey, honey, we’ll take two pieces of that chocolate layer cake.” And then to Amanda, “I’m not going anywhere. Not till I see him come out of there.”

Amanda looked at her watch and wondered if she should call home.

Milton had been watching from his second-floor lookout window for the past fifteen minutes. He was scanning the shoppers on the floor below as he usually did, but the focus of his attention was on the front doors. Paul Franklin would be coming through them any minute and he didn’t want to be surprised with a knock on his office door. Why was he coming? He had already apologized for Millie’s actions. Why did he feel they should meet face-to-face? What else was on his mind? Had he talked to Dove? That was why he was watching the front door. He would wait until he saw Paul come in the front door, and then, while he walked through the store, Milton would call Dove and see if she knew why he was coming.

And there he was. Paul wasn’t ten feet inside the front doors when a woman engaged him in a jovial conversation. Milton quickly dialed the number of the Methodist manse. It rang three times before he heard, “Hello.”

“Dove?”

“No. This is Millie. She’s not here. Can I take a message?”

This was the second time today Millie Franklin had given him palpitations. He hoped the pause didn’t appear as long on the other end of the line as it did on this one.

“No. Thank you. I’ll call back.” He hung up. As he did, he looked back through the window but couldn’t see Paul. He scanned the floor aisle by aisle. He had lost him.

The knock on his office door was like a wrecking ball hitting a condemned building. Milton jumped and yelled more than spoke, “Come in.”

“Good afternoon, Milton.”

They shook hands and Milton offered the preacher a chair—the same one Dove had sat curled up in just a couple of hours ago. Milton waited.

“I’ve never been up here. This is a very cozy office you have here.”

“Thank you. It’s ah … it’s okay.”

“Are you okay, Milton? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. Just the Christmas season. You know how that is. Retail at Christmastime. How about you? You okay?”

“Not really, Milton. Not really. I’ve had a pretty rough day.”

“Really?”

“You know some days are made for rest and some for labor and some just for learning. Today, the good Lord knows, there has been no rest and I haven’t had much time for labor, but heaven help me, I certainly have learned a lot. I’ve had things revealed to me today I have been blind to for years. Things I should have seen and should have known; but I was just too trusting to allow myself to give them a thought. You ever had days like that, Milton?”

Milton wished he would quit saying his name. If he was doing it to intimidate him, it was working. The back of Milton’s head hurt from his neck to his crown. It was a numb ache. He couldn’t remember what the last question was. Was it rhetorical or was he required to answer?

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I sure do know what you mean.”

“Milton, we need to settle this. I hope and pray we can put it behind us and never have to face anything like this again.”

“Okay.” Even though he solemnly agreed with what Paul had said, Milton was unsure what to expect next. When Paul stood and reached in his overcoat pocket, for a flash in time, one he would never forget, Milton wondered in a panic if he was reaching for a pistol. What he removed, though, was a pack of bobby pins.

“Buddy Briggs left these things at my house this morning and said I could pay for them or bring them back. I’ll let that be your decision, Milton. However you want to handle it.” He set the bobby pins on Milton’s desk, then reached back into his overcoat pocket to retrieve the rest of the stolen items: gloves, two combs, an identification bracelet, and a silver picture frame with a color photo of Rhonda Fleming or Jeanne Crain. Milton wasn’t sure which. He always got them mixed up.

“What do I owe you, Milton?” Paul asked.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Milton knew he needed to say something more, but he was out of breath and could think of nothing appropriate.

“I really am sorry about everything, Milton. I wish I could do something to make it up to you. I feel my entire family owes you an apology. We have interfered in the peace of your Christmas season and caused you undue worry and stress at a most unfortunate time. What can I do for you, Milton? Just name it.”

Amanda and Dove were sipping cold coffee when Paul came out the front door and pulled his collar up against the city wind. Dove spotted him first and a sudden twisting in her stomach stopped her mouth from working. She jumped up and grabbed her coat, leaned over and kissed Amanda on the cheek and said as she was leaving, “Thanks, honey, for listening to me. I’m here for you and Shirley Ann and Buddy. I’ll pray for you. Sit up with you. Cry with you. Whatever you need—you know that. Just call me. Good luck tonight with that Sterrett family meeting. I’d rather go in the lion’s den than Doris Sterrett’s den. But right now I need to catch my husband and walk home with him. See ya.”

And Amanda was alone. Maybe that’s what she would do too—go and see her husband. Maybe they could go home together and pick up Shirley Ann and go out to eat and then, together, head over to the lion’s den.

CHAPTER 17

There is nothing lonelier than a hospital room at dusk with one bedside lamp burning. The clatter and noise in the hall contrasted with the dull silence in the open-door room put Walter Selman, a man caught between two worlds, in a reflective mood. There were many things he wasn’t sure of but the one thing he felt certain about was he would eat no more hospital food. Even before he had been visited by that dunderpate of a doctor, Yandy or Yandall or whatever his name was, he had decided to go to the cafeteria for dinner. Milton would be here soon to join him. And while he was waiting, Walter decided to put on a shirt and some trousers. Dr. Yahoo probably wouldn’t approve, but who was going to ask him?

Milton was a good man. Walter wasn’t sure if Colleen shared those same sentiments with the same enthusiasm, but he was never sure if the two of them were in love. Colleen seemed taken enough with him when they’d first met, of course. But after a year or so he could sense the intensity was gone. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone thinks their father or father-in-law would notice, but he did. Colleen started doing more things by herself. His little girl dropped by the house alone more and more. He watched as his sweet Colleen gave up on having children, and he and Ella knew that had been her greatest dream, her greatest desire. Doris was the one they never figured for kids. She was so career-minded and socially driven. That she took time out of her busy life to give birth twice was always a mystery to her mother and him.

Even when he saw Milton pulling away, working longer hours at the store and going back on Sunday evenings to do bookwork and spending holidays redecorating the front windows, even with all this, Walter never allowed himself to think there was anything seriously wrong with the marriage. He figured they were just settling into comfortable routines. Maybe the passion had cooled, but doesn’t it always? Ella wondered something different—something Walter didn’t want to believe, but sometimes did. She wondered if there was another woman. “Maybe those trips back to Richmond to the home office weren’t business at all,” she would say aloud. “Or maybe it was someone right there in the store.” He and Ella discussed all the possibilities but never confronted Milton. Once Ella considered talking to the preacher’s wife about it, being as how she had known him back in Richmond. But Walter wouldn’t let her. He told her there was no reason to involve the preacher and his wife in family business. That’s how rumors got started and dirty laundry got scattered all over town.

Even with these suspicions Walter couldn’t help liking Milton. Now on the other hand, Dr. Campbell Sterrett had done everything in his power to make Walter love and adore him and frankly the more he tried, the more annoying he found him. Try as he may, Walter just couldn’t feel anything for the man. Certainly there was plenty of reason to respect him. He had given him two wonderful grandsons and—well, that was all he could think of. It was enough. That was all Walter wanted from him.

But those things shouldn’t have been on his mind tonight. Both his girls were well provided for. He should just be thankful and content himself with the comfort of knowing that even if Dr. Sterrett wasn’t as flawed as he often thought he was and Milton wasn’t as perfect as he often thought he was, both his girls could have done a whole lot worse.

As he sat on the edge of the bed in the dim, eerie light that the small lampshade muted from most of the room, he nearly jumped at the sudden rattling of the window. The wind was picking up again, blowing freezing snow against the big panes. Blowing cold against the warmth of the room. Blowing memories back again. He didn’t have time for those memories now but he didn’t have the strength to resist them.

Running from the dressing room in horror, Walter crashed into his father who was rushing toward the screams.

“Dad! It’s Adrienne. She’s been shot. You have to do something.”

E. G. Selman, a big man, grabbed his son and pushed him back into the room. He stood in the doorway and held the boy close while he surveyed the scene. He wasn’t prone to excitement, and he observed and calculated before he spoke. His gaze went from Adrienne’s body leaning over a chair on to the startled Nicholas who stood frozen in the center of the room with expressionless eyes to Simon who was sobbing hysterically with his head thrown back against the wall. E. G. Selman knelt immediately and took Adrienne’s hand and saw that she was conscious and aware. He spoke gently and quickly to her.

“Where’s the pain?”

“It’s in my stomach. Am I bleeding? I’m afraid to look.”

“You’re going to be all right. I’m going to get help.”

E. G. Selman turned to his son and said, “Come here.” He took Walter’s right hand and pressed it against Adrienne’s stomach near the wound. “Put as much pressure as she can stand right here and don’t let up until I get back. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You stay here and don’t let go of her for any reason.” Then he left in a near run and Walter was again alone with the principal cast of
The Nativity.
He pushed his hand against Adrienne’s stomach and felt it moisten with her lifeblood more and more with each passing second. She looked up at Walter and smiled as if to comfort him.

“Walter, hold my hand.”

Her cold fingers gripped his free hand with more vigor than Walter was applying to her wound. Her voice was only a whisper, but every word she spoke was clear and demanding.

“Walter, tell Nicholas to get out of here. Simon, too. They don’t need to be here when the doctor and the police come. Tell them to leave the theater and the town. Now. Please, Walter.”

Walter looked up at Nicholas who was still staring at his wife and the pain he had caused. “Nicholas, she says for you to leave. Now. Get out of town quick. Before the police come. You, too, Simon.”

Sixteen-year-old Walter Selman felt oddly in charge. He was giving orders, second-hand orders though they may be, to adults who were unable to think for themselves. He sensed he was doing something wrong, but it was what Adrienne wanted so it couldn’t be too wrong. He didn’t want to fail her at a time when everyone else in her life had failed her.

Nicholas kneeled and put his hand behind her head and said, “Adrienne, dear.”

She cut him off quickly. “Go, Nick. Get away while you can. We’ll take care of this. You must go and go now and take Simon with you.”

“I’ll rot in hell before I take him anywhere. Adrienne, I love you and I won’t be far.”

With this he left the room, partly in obedience to his wife and partly in relief. He protested little to her demand. Simon was still in the room. She spoke softly again to Walter, “Get him out of here.”

“I can’t. I can’t leave you. I can’t let go of you.”

“Am I bleeding that badly?”

Walter could tell her the truth and risk throwing her into a panic or he could soften the answer. He opted for the latter.

“It’s just that my dad said to keep my hand here. I can’t let go.”

“Simon,” she rasped as loudly as she could. “Run. Do you understand?”

Simon Croft, angel extraordinaire, never heard her. He was glued to the wall. Time was of no consequence. He was dazed with fright and guilt and hadn’t moved since the shot was fired.

“Simon!” Walter yelled, surprising himself at his assertiveness. “Did you hear her? Run. Get out of here.”

As if the sternness in the boy’s voice or the volume of it had jarred him back to reality, Simon turned and slinked out the doorway. Walter turned his attention back to Adrienne.

“Just stay calm. You’ll be all right.”

“Walter, listen closely to me. This was an accident. No one was at fault. I was someplace I shouldn’t have been. No one meant …” A pain slashed through her body and haltered her speech and contorted her face. Then she continued. “No one meant to do this. It was an accident. You’ve got to be with me on this, Walter. An accident.”

Walter didn’t want to commit to anything he might not be able to live up to later. But he certainly would try. He nodded his head. It
was
an accident. Nicholas never meant to harm his wife. He was trying to kill Simon. So, yes, it was an accident. That wasn’t a lie.

“An accident, Walter.”

“Yes, ma’am. It was an accident. Don’t try to talk anymore. The ambulance should be here any minute now.”

“Walter.”

“Milton. Come in. Come in. I was just standing here by the window watching the cars slipping and sliding in the snow. I wouldn’t want to be down there, but it sure is fun from up here watching them sloshing through that mess.”

“What are you doing dressed?”

“Didn’t Colleen tell you? We’re going out, you and me.”

“Can you do that?”

“Sure I can. We’re going to the cafeteria downstairs. You haven’t eaten have you?”

“No.”

“You’re on your dinner break?”

“Yes, but aren’t you on some sort of special diet?”

“Yeah. I’m on a roast beef, mashed potatoes, and butterscotch pie diet.”

“Are you sure, Walter?”

“What’s wrong, Miltie? You think the roast beef might kill me? Come on, Milton, lighten up. It’s suppertime.”

The two men, father-in-law and son-in-law, with a bond that neither one of them could explain, lightened up and walked out of room 213 with their arms around one another.