Down by the River (15 page)

“Tell George thank you,” she said, smiling, taking the pie.

She was an attractive woman of perhaps thirty-five. She had a scrubbed, wholesome look about her and her clothes were of very fine quality, but not fussy. She took a sip of her coffee, gazing out the window at the rain. She took a bite of the pie and turned to look into the café. She was a little startled
to find everyone staring at her. They didn’t just look, they stared. June and Susan had actually turned in their chairs. The woman looked at the front of her sweater to see if perhaps she had spilled something on herself.

Elmer cleared his throat and everyone recovered. June laughed softly and said to the woman, “Our apologies! We all belong to the Presbyterian Church and noticed you went there first. That makes you a curiosity.”

She smiled at them. “I can understand. I grew up in a small town. I was hoping to find the minister at the church, but he doesn’t seem to be in.”

“Are you from the church office?” June asked.

“No. Actually… Well, Harry and I are friends,” she said, and seemed somewhat uncomfortable. “I just wanted to drop in and say…hello.”

A quiet moment passed while she looked into her coffee cup. Then June got up, crossed the floor with her hot chocolate in hand and, without asking permission, sat across from her in the booth. “Where are you dropping in from?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?” she said, but of course she had heard the question.

“I asked where you’re from.”

The woman’s eyes were dark and very round, lined by heavy black lashes the same color as her hair. Her skin, by contrast, was ivory. She was extraordinarily beautiful. “I drove up from Sebastapol. My name is Brianna Shipton,” she said. “I’m Harry’s ex-wife.”

“Oh!” June said. She stuck her hand over the tabletop. “June Hudson. I’m one of the town’s doctors. And that’s my nurse, Susan. My father, Elmer, or Doc, if you like. He’s another of the town’s doctors, mostly retired. And Sam Cussler, owner of the gas station you passed coming into town.” As each person was introduced, they stood and came over to Brianna, offering a handshake. “Susan’s husband John is another of the town’s doctors. It might seem we have an awful lot of them, but it’s not true. My dad is trying to retire and I’ve gone to part-time because of the baby. And, well, that’s the clinic over there, which is why we eat here. You’ve already met Leah, and that’s George back there.” He waved. “I don’t know where Harry is, but it’s a safe bet you’ll run into him here at mealtimes. As far as I know, he doesn’t cook for himself much, especially with the café right next door.”

“Harry’s very special to us, Mrs…. um, is it all right to just call you Brianna?” Susan asked. She squished into the booth beside June.

“Of course. Yes, of course. And despite our divorce, he’s special to me, too.”

“He’s mentioned that you remained good friends. Was he expecting you today or is this a surprise?” June asked.

“Oh, I didn’t tell him I was coming,” she said. Again she looked into her coffee cup, gripping it with both hands. “I was hoping he’d be here.”

“I saw him at both breakfast and lunch,” George
called from the grill. “I saw that old station wagon of his drive by after lunch. He might be visiting someone from the congregation.”

“He’s been called to San Francisco a lot lately,” Elmer said.

“Seems some family member is having trouble of some kind,” Sam informed her. Then, as if he wanted to suck back the words, he said, “I hope I didn’t talk out of school, ma’am. You know small towns. We all know too damned much about one another’s lives.”

“I understand,” she said, smiling. “So you think he’ll be back this afternoon?”

“Depends on if he went all the way to the Bay Area again,” Elmer said. “That’s quite a drive.”

“So, he has a family member there?” she asked.

“Would that be you, Brianna?” Susan asked. “Sebastapol’s close to—”

“No, I haven’t seen Harry in a long while. But I’ve talked to him. And…well…I’ve been a little worried about him. Does he seem all right to you?” she asked, looking around at the faces that now surrounded her.

Elmer pulled a chair from one of the tables and sat beside the booth. “Tell the truth, young woman, we’ve been a mite worried ourselves. Me and Sam here, we play poker with Harry and—” He stopped when he noticed that shock penetrated her eyes, causing them to grow astonished for a second before she could recover herself. “I think you’re looking at Harry’s closest friends, Brianna, and yes, we’ve been concerned, too.”

“Have you noticed anything odd about him lately?”

“Well, other than the fact that he seems distracted. Sad about something…”

“Has he been borrowing money? Because that’s why I’m here. He asked me for a loan,” she said. “And I’m about the last person Harry would ask for a loan.”

“Preachers never did get paid right well,” Sam said, hoisting a hip on a nearby table.

“His pay is not the problem,” Brianna said. “I don’t know how close you all are to Harry, but I don’t have many options. The roads aren’t good and I have a long way to go. I don’t think I should stay till after dark. There have been flash floods south of here. But Harry’s in trouble and someone has to do something.”

“What is it?” Elmer said.

“Are you sure you don’t know? You play poker with him.”

“He hardly ever wins,” Elmer said with a shrug. “My sister has almost always won, since we set up our table years ago.”

“Well, there you go. If you care anything about Harry, don’t give him any more loans. Believe me, it does him more harm than good.”

They looked at one another, still confounded. “Miss, we don’t play much poker around here these days. If we make it regular, it’s only once a week, and it’s penny ante.”

“Poker’s not his only game,” she said. She slipped her arm into one sleeve. “And I don’t know of any family members in the Bay Area, but there’s a track.” She slipped her arm into the other sleeve. “I love Harry very much, I always have. There just isn’t a more wonderful man alive. But Harry has a problem. Harry gambles…and he rarely wins.”

You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was frozen in their places.

“I wasn’t sure what I was going to do,” she said. “I thought about calling the church office and telling them that it’s gotten bad again. They’ve gone around with Harry on this before. I thought maybe I’d beg him to get help. Now I’m going to go back home. I took the afternoon off to drive up here and I have to get back. I have papers to grade.”

She looked as sad as Harry had. Resigned. Angry, too.

“I thought he had trouble balancing his checkbook or managing his charge account,” June said. “Gambling never occurred to me.”

“Oh, you know. The minute I told you I saw the dawning in all your eyes. You know it’s true, you’ve all been loaning him money. And I’ll bet his poker mates see a rather unnatural gleam of excitement in his eyes when the cards are cut.” She fished around in her purse for a couple of bills, leaving them on the table. “I just hope you’re really his friends and not a bunch of folks from town who are going to rake him over the coals.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “He
really is the most wonderful, loving, giving man I’ve ever known. He just thinks one of these days he’s going to win big.”

She wriggled out of the booth. Elmer had to slide his chair back to let her pass. He stood, as did Sam.

“It was nice meeting you all,” she said softly. “Good luck,” she said.

No one spoke or even moved for a long spell. They silently watched her leave, pop open her umbrella and dash to her car. She started it up and drove back down Valley Drive the way she had come.

Finally Elmer said, “We never have had the best luck with preachers, have we?”

The former preacher for Grace Valley had been a shameless womanizer. When warnings didn’t alter his behavior, women like June and Susan took action to stop him. The old men in town like Elmer, Sam and Judge tended to think him ridiculous in his flirtations and therefore harmless. But women like Susan and June, who suffered his clumsy advances regularly, grew more than a little weary of the disrespect. They stopped him in a very final way—they boycotted the church. Angry, the pastor and his family left.

The townsfolk couldn’t believe their good fortune when Harry came to them. With his humor and easy disposition, Harry fit in at once. When weekly poker couldn’t be held at Judge Forrest’s house because his
son and grandsons were visiting, Harry offered the parsonage right away. He laughed and played with them as much as prayed with them. He was easy and fun, and had such a wonderful carelessness about him that it made things always seem less dire, more gamelike. Of course, that was his problem as well as his most endearing trait. But they loved him. How could they not?

When that old station wagon Harry drove came growling into town late that night, the lights were all still on at the café. Inside were a few people—June and Elmer, Sam, Judge and George, of course. Susan had gone home to her family, as had Leah, and it had been discussed that, although Myrna was certainly an integral part of the group, it wouldn’t do to bring her out late on a rainy night.

Harry couldn’t resist stopping by, he was feeling so good about everything. He’d had a good day, and for once quit while he was ahead. “What’s the occasion?” he asked as he burst into the café. He was stopped short by the grave expressions they wore. “What’s the matter?”

“Come on in, Harry. Have a cup of coffee,” Elmer said.

“You look like you’ve been waiting for me,” he said.

“We were about to give up and go home,” June said. She felt like crying. She didn’t know how this was going to turn out.

As George was delivering a cup of coffee, he
passed by the back door and flipped on the Closed sign.

Harry swallowed.

“Harry, we met Brianna,” June said. There was no point beating around the bush.

His eyes registered the gravity of the situation. “Brianna Shipton?” he asked weakly.

Nods all around. “She drove up here to be sure you were all right. She’s been worried about you.”

“Has she now,” he said, sipping coffee.

They held their collective breath. They’d had plenty of time to talk and compare notes. They all had made substantial loans and gifts of money to Harry. They’d added it up. They knew his ex-wife was telling the truth. But what would Harry do? Deny it?

“We’ve been worried, too,” June said. “But you knew that. We all, each one of us, asked what was wrong and how we could help. Now we’d like to ask again. How can we help?”

He quietly sipped his coffee, then put down the cup and stood. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said solemnly. “It’s entirely up to me.”

“Something tells me you’re not up to this. Alone, at least,” Sam said. “Son, life is hard in the best of times. Sometimes we need our friends. Sometimes—”

Harry held up a hand. “I’m sorry to have abused our friendship. I’m sorry to all of you.”

“Then it’s true, Harry?” Elmer asked. “You have a problem with gambling?”

He shrugged. “Not exactly,” he said, his smile wan. “I have a problem with losing.” He turned to go.

He was almost to the door when Judge called him back. “Harry, we’re all friends here. Don’t you want to talk about this?”

He reached the door and looked back at the somber group. “Thanks. I know you mean well. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—There isn’t anything to talk about. Not tonight, anyway.”

With his head down, hands plunged into his pockets, he slowly crossed to the church in the rain. He left the station wagon sitting in the café parking lot.

“I don’t like how that was left,” June said. “I have a bad feeling.”

“Who among us has a good feeling?” Elmer asked.

“Let’s wrap it up,” Sam said. “Nothing more to be done tonight.”

“We should have put this off till morning,” Elmer said.

“But, Dad, this isn’t about us. It’s about Harry. Our only part in his drama is to tell him we know he’s in trouble and ask how we can help. What he does with that is up to him. By my way of thinking, if you’re a friend, you tell him as soon as you know. You offer your help as soon as you can.” She took a breath. “What else could we have done?”

“There’s one thing doesn’t sit right with me,”
Sam said. “If Harry’d said ‘Yeah, help me,’ what would we have offered?”

No one said another word; no one could answer that one. That they’d be willing to do anything wasn’t an answer if you didn’t have any idea what to do. They turned off the lights and locked up the café.

In the morning the station wagon was gone. When George opened up the café he found that an envelope full of bills had been pushed through the mail slot. There was a list of who was owed what and a very brief note. “I’m sorry I let you all down. You’ll be better off. Harry.”

A
s word of Harry Shipton’s departure spread through Grace Valley, spirits sank in a profound sense of loss. His problems were talked about, but with sympathy, sometimes even empathy. The deacons ran the church, collected the tithe and paid the bills. Members of the congregation took turns reading from scripture, choosing hymns and delivering short sermons. But no one called the presbytery down state. No one wanted a new minister to entrench himself there and thus close off the possibility that Harry, who had apparently lost his way, might find his way home. This was not a decision by consensus, but rather an action arrived at spontaneously.

At morning, noon and evening various patrons of the café would murmur the question, “Has anyone heard from Harry?” Or, “Any pastor sightings?” After the inevitable answer of no they would chat
about where he could be and what he might be doing.

There were two people who held secrets. One was June, for she had immediately located and called Brianna Shipton. She hadn’t been hard to find in the lovely little town of Sebastapol, just inland of Bodega Bay. June wanted to know if Brianna had heard from Harry, and she admitted she had not. Of course June told Brianna what they had done. “As we were honorbound to do,” June said. “Once knowing, we couldn’t…”

“You couldn’t pretend you didn’t know,” Brianna acknowledged.

“Have you any idea where he might have gone?”

“It would be so easy if Harry had ever hung around a racetrack, but the fact is he favored off-track betting, private and somewhat dangerous high-stakes crap games, and lately, Internet gambling and day trading. He could be holed up somewhere at an Internet coffee bar.”

“You don’t think—After what we…?”

“That he’d go on a major bender? Oh, June, I can tell you’re not an experienced co-dependent or enabler. Frankly, I think that’s the most obvious scenario. And maybe the least tragic possibility.”

Those were the fearful words June harbored in her secret soul, because a part of her worried that Harry might be despondent enough to take his own life. His note was ominous—“You’ll be better off.” Perhaps others were likewise concerned, but no one was
willing to jinx the situation by speaking the fear out loud. And June didn’t tell that she’d contacted Brianna.

The other secret-holder was George, and for George to have a secret meant a monumental force of will. Everything George heard or saw or read about he told. He had the loosest lips in town. But he would never let this slip. In the envelope full of cash, his name was at the top of the list in the amount of two hundred and forty dollars. He recopied the list in his own pen and threw the original in the trash. On top of the discarded list went the coffee grounds and eggshells, obliterating it forever. He remembered peeling off two twenties from his wad of bills in his pocket, but the two hundred could only have come from one place. The till. Harry must have robbed him. It was just too hard to believe. If Harry had robbed him, Harry had been a desperate, driven man with demons George couldn’t imagine.

George didn’t know the law well, but he suspected that if he told Tom, Tom would be forced to arrest Harry. And things were already bad enough.

But during this time, a pall cast over the valley or not, there seemed to be no stopping the constant drizzle that the occasional cold snap would turn into sleet and ice. There was no way to slow the approach of Christmas. And the heir apparent of the town doctor was showing his heft. June was waddling like a duck, a very pregnant duck.

A group of women met in the basement of the
church to assemble Christmas boxes of necessities, ranging from mittens and scarves to canned goods and nonperishables. “I can’t even get up to the table,” June complained.

“Funny, you
look
like you’ve been up to the table,” Susan teased.

“She looks like she’s been knocked up to the table,” Nancy said, making them all laugh, and Jurea flush. “Don’t complain to me,” she added. “You should have seen me fifteen years ago. Twins, remember?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Julianna Dickson said. “I meant to tell everyone. We’re pregnant again.”

This would be number six for the Dicksons, and all the women gathered squealed and hugged and carried on except June, who sank into a chair and had a strange look on her face. All she could think was, Julianna’s babies come so fast! She hadn’t made it to the hospital once! It was a miracle John and June even made it to the Dicksons’ orchard for the last one.

“June?” Julianna finally asked.

“I thought you were going to stop,” she said.

“I thought I was, too.” Julianna shrugged. “Oops.”

“What’s really funny is that Julianna and Mike were in this huge feud,” Mary Lou explained to Nancy. “They weren’t even speaking.”

“We made up.” She shrugged again, then her face lit up with a big smile. “I’m thinking of picking another fight with him. He makes up very well.”

Hoots and catcalls followed from everyone except Jurea, who hid her grin behind her hand. It sounded not at all like one would think a bunch of churchwomen would sound. Then all eyes fell on Susan, whose delicate skin was charged with a red blush. “John and I were fighting, too. It was the same feud,” she explained. “One night at cards the men were talking about working women. John said he didn’t want me to have to work. At one point he said he just wanted me to be able to relax at home—with all the cooking and cleaning, et cetera.” There was a chorus of moans.

“And Mike said he was glad I didn’t want to work,” Julianna added. “I wonder what he thought I was doing with five kids!” Another chorus of moans.

“I guess that blush means that John really knows how to make up, too,” someone remarked.

“Well, if you want the truth, I’m a little late.” The rush of excitement shifted to Susan, but she tried to hold them back. “Don’t! I’m trying not to get my hopes up! We quit trying a long time ago because…I wouldn’t be surprised if this is just another false alarm.”

“Heavens, is there something in the water around here?” Nancy asked.

“You haven’t heard about the high fertility rate of Grace Valley?”

“I want to know more about the fight. What made you decide to make up with your husbands?” Nancy asked.

They looked at one another. “Groveling,” they said in unison.

A great deal of good-natured poking at the male of the species followed, along with laughter that had June holding on to her stomach and gritting her teeth. She ran to the bathroom twice, which sent the women into howls of laughter.

Nancy and June shared an umbrella on the way to their cars. When they stopped at Nancy’s car, she turned to June and hugged her. “Thank you for letting me in on that crowd. I needed to laugh.”

“You better look out,” June warned. “Half of us seem to be pregnant.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said, a sadness creeping into her eyes.

“Things will get back to normal,” June promised. “Don’t you have at least one boy up on crutches?”

“That’s not the problem, June. It’s Chris and me. We’ve been at odds for years. I had hoped coming back here would help, but I don’t think this has turned out to be the answer. For me, anyway.”

“Nancy, there must be something you can do to get back on track. You should see someone.”

There was no money for that. There was no money for anything. So Nancy forced a smile, gave June’s hand a squeeze and said, “It’ll work out. Don’t worry.”

“Nancy,” June said, grabbing her hand. “What’s the problem. Enough skittering away from me. We’re friends, right?”

“It’s a little embarrassing, June.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“It’s money. In San Diego I was the major breadwinner. I had a great job with great benefits. I had to take a leave of absence to come up here. And as much as I’d like to stay here, with my new old friends…”

“What about Chris and his insurance business?”

“He’s all but given it up,” she said. “He never did much with it, anyway.”

“What
is
he doing?” June asked.

“Well,” Nancy said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now that the house is pretty much finished, and nicely at that, he’s in the garage building things. Building things to sell.”

“And…?”

“I wouldn’t call us Forrest Furniture, Inc., just yet. I think he sold a table.”

“Oh, boy.”

“It was a nice table,” she said meekly.

The Graceful Quilters were in full holiday swing, not limiting their works to only quilts, but also tree skirts, place mats, basket liners, table runners, wall hangings and everything Yule. Time was bearing down. The quilters now met at Birdie’s, now twice a week, trying to catch up.

“I want us to make something special for Jurea Mull this year,” June said. “If I could, I’d wrap that woman in solid gold.”

“Why is that, June?”

“I just helped Susan and some of the other women
from church put together boxes for Christmas, and who was there, working? Adding her own knitting and canned goods to the mix? Jurea! She should be getting a box, but she is oblivious to that fact. Instead she’s worried about who might be hungry!”

“She looks after the little ones next door, as well,” Corsica said. “That young woman has nothing to cook with, so Jurea makes sure she has hot meals as often as possible. Sam had a stroke of genius when he put her in that house.”

“Have you looked in on her lately?” June asked.

“I haven’t personally, but I have angels who keep me posted. Sam and Ricky both look in on her and make sure they are safe and warm there.”

“We have to do something about toys. Do you imagine those children have ever had toys?”

“The volunteer firefighters have been told there is a need there. They’re doing rebuilt toys again this year,” Birdie said. “Now, toys remind me of babies, babies reminds me of pregnancy, which reminds me that my goddaughter is not yet married.”

June looked up. “That was subtle, Birdie.”

“Wasn’t it? I had a dream last night, dear. And in it your mother was slapping me senseless for letting you get away with this for so long.”

“How far along are you now, June? Seven months? Eight?” Philana asked, possibly to divert the conversation.

“Right,” June said. “Seven or eight, no one’s sure. Especially me.”

“Jim seems a wonderful man,” Birdie said. “I wouldn’t say this in front of Nancy, but since you didn’t marry my son, I think you did just fine with this Jim. What kind of man helps a virtual stranger rebuild his house?”

“There were a lot of neighbors in on that, but you’re right, Birdie. He’s good catch.”

“And you plan to catch him…when?”

“My father doesn’t hound me this much, and do you know why?”

“Because Elmer is a coward?”

“Because he knows of this stubborn streak I have, since I probably inherited it from him. And he knows that the more he hounds me to get married, the longer I’m likely to put it off.”

“Coward,” Birdie muttered, stitching.

“If you don’t mind my asking…” Ursula began, letting the question trail.

“It’s not very complicated,” June said. “Neither Jim nor I have ever been married, we’re both dangerously close to our forties and we think taking time to get to know each other better, to settle into the idea of a lifetime commitment, is prudent now. We’re a little set in our ways.”

“And so? This taking of time?” Philana couldn’t help herself.

“It only means that if we don’t soon discover some enormous incompatibility, we’ll probably get married. But there’s no hurry. This baby will not be without parents. Loving parents, I might add.”

There was quiet for a moment before Birdie said, unhappily, “Hardly the point.”

On they stitched, the subject temporarily dropped. But only temporarily. Birdie chirped about June’s best interests several more times while they quilted.

Myrna put a CD of soft music on the stereo while Morton, as she had returned to calling him, put a log on the fire. Then they sat on separate divans with their reading lights above them and read their exchanged manuscript pages, those that had been written that day.

This was the new routine, which had been blended from the old. Myrna got up in the morning and had her muffin and tea while Morton had his coffee and bagel. She went into her den to research, read and write while Morton went upstairs to the room that had been his twenty years before. His writing was being done on a yellow pad because his computer had not yet arrived, but his handwriting was impeccable and Myrna almost hated to see it converted to type. One of the Barstows came to the house to clean—the word should be used loosely—and prepare lunch.

It was lunch that reunited them. They would chat about their morning of work while eating a very small meal of soup, then back to their corners they went.

Myrna had never liked five o’clock so well, for that was when she would meet Morton in the sitting
room for martinis and crackers. They often entertained a guest or two—Elmer might drop in, or her dear friend and attorney, John Cutler.

A new part of the routine was that Morton cooked dinner. His meals tended to be a little more bland than Myrna liked, but they were perfectly nutritious. He claimed a sensitive palate, saying he was not up to the fancy and often experimental meals that Myrna and the Barstows concocted. He was a genius with a chicken breast or salmon fillet, though. And he was as tidy as could be, doing all the cleanup afterward.

Then they would retire to the parlor, fuel the fire and have their reading. With poker suspended indefinitely, Myrna would be bored to tears if not for this little domestic routine she had with Morton.

“Morton?” she said.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Have I mentioned how delighted I am that you’ve returned to Grace Valley?”

“I believe you have. And have I said how pleased I am to be back?”

“I think you’ve mentioned that. But Morton, I have a serious question, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, dear.”

“You’ve been reading my pages on a nightly basis, and you’ve given me some good suggestions here and there, but do you find that, now that I’m experiencing this contentedness, I’ve lost my edge?”