The Yellow Packard (8 page)

“Mr. Hall!” Janie Timmons’s voice was dramatically increased in volume by the public address system. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he meekly assured her. But with blood now flowing from both nostrils he looked anything but the picture of health.

“I’ll check him out,” Johns called out from the last row of chairs, “you all just keep the bidding going. And remember, every dollar goes to orphans, so don’t be misers.”

By the time the lawyer got to the car, George had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was applying pressure to his nose. Meanwhile, Timmons refocused the crowd and was asking for more bids on a rolltop desk.

“You took quite a fall there, son,” the lawyer said with a smile. “You look like you’ve been through a fight with Jack Dempsey, and judging by your nose, I don’t think you lasted the first round.”

George felt too stupid to acknowledge the joke, but his shame did provoke a need to explain why it happened. “I just nodded off. I haven’t had much sleep, and the car’s seats are so comfortable….”

“No reason to go into that,” Johns cut in. “For the moment, why don’t you just sit on the running board and lay your head back until the bleeding stops.”

Sensing that was his only recourse, George eased down on the very thing that had caused his injury. “Maybe it is cursed,” he muttered bringing the white cloth up to his nose.

Johns shrugged. “I still doubt it, but I’m not the one with the battered face.”

The bleeding stopped about the same time the last piece of auctioned furniture found a new home. The new father had just risen to his feet when Janie Timmons arrived for a closer inspection.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m just a little clumsy at times.”

“Well that’s good.” Grinning, the woman added, “I mean that you’re all right is good, not that you’re clumsy.” Turning toward Johns, she grabbed his right hand and announced, “Well about the Packard, I guess it belongs to—”

The lawyer cut her off, “Yep, you’re right, it belongs to Mr. Hall here. He can bring that new daughter home from the hospital in style. I can witness the paperwork. Let’s get this deal made so he can be on his way to see his little girl and wife.”

A mystified Timmons dropped her hand along with her jaw, looking first to the lawyer and then over to George as if to ask, “What just happened?”

Chapter 9

T
he car’s new owner had backed the Packard out of the barn and was a half a mile down the road before Timmons finally looked toward the attorney. Her expression was a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“You outbid that young man by two hundred dollars. Did you suddenly get cold feet? Are you now believing the sedan is cursed?”

“No,” he quickly assured her. “Not even his tumble got me to believe any such thing.”

“Give me a hand closing these doors,” she moaned, her displeasure evident in her tone.

After the pair had pulled the large wooden doors shut and latched them, she poked a finger into Johns’s stomach. “You and your urging bidders to be generous! You cost that children’s home some money today, and I doubt Abigale would have liked that. She told me two weeks ago that when it came the time for me to sell her estate I was to squeeze every nickel out of each sale. There are a lot of nickels in that two hundred dollars you just cost me!”

He smiled, pushed her finger back from his gut, reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a money clip. As she looked on, Johns peeled off eleven twenties from the roll and handed it to the woman.

“You gave me one too many,” she noted.

“Consider it a donation to the cause. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m either superstitious or cheap.”

After stuffing the cash into her front dress pocket, she said, “I don’t understand. You wanted that car.”

“Yeah, I wanted it, but I didn’t need it. The young man did. Sometimes needs are a lot more important than wants.”

“Sam, you sound like your wife has been dragging you to church again. But I’m sure I haven’t seen you there. I can’t even remember the last time you darkened those doors.”

“No,” he laughed, “and I figure the next time I’ll see the inside of a church will be at my funeral. But that doesn’t mean I don’t read the Bible.”

“Well, Mr. Johns, that might surprise me even more than your paying for that young man to win the auction.”

“It is what Abbi would have wanted,” he modestly replied. “Most days I look in that mirror, I don’t like what I see. I let Abbi down. But today I feel a little better about who I am.”

She ran her right hand through her red hair. “Now I’m really lost.”

“So am I,” Janet Carson said, walking up to join the conversation.

“That red skirt looks great on you,” Timmons noted. “And that green blouse, wow, I wish I was still young enough to fit into something that small.”

Johns shook his head in agreement. “Janet, you always look nice.”

“Thank you both. I try not to look like the old maid teacher I am!”

“You aren’t anywhere old enough to be considered that,” the man shot back.

“But the clock is ticking.” The younger woman laughed. “Now what’s this about a mirror?”

“We made a lot of money for the children’s home today,” Timmons said. “And there will be more to come with the auction of the jewelry and art.”

“I’ve noted that,” the schoolteacher assured her, “but it was your comment that has me a bit confused.” She looked at Johns.

Both women studied the lawyer as he stuck his hands deep into his pants pocket and shrugged. “Here’s the deal. Whenever I read the parables I always feel like Christ is talking directly to me. It’s like I’m looking at my own life through His words. Today I felt like the man who had everything, and I was looking at another man who needed what I had. Without reading the Bible, I don’t think I would have made the decision I made. It is like seeing yourself in the mirror and having that image remind you that you need to change something about yourself. Now let’s cut this Sunday school talk off before I regret not buying that car.”

“I’ve got the money for the Packard,” Timmons said, shaking her head. “It is young Mr. Hall’s car now, heaven help him. I should get back to work anyway. If you want me, I’ll be in my office making sure I have all I need for the next part of the auction. And, Sam!”

“Yes, Janie.”

“There is a mirror that hasn’t sold yet that you might want to buy.”

After the chuckling businesswoman had made her way to the far side of the barn, Janet lowered her voice and whispered, “So have you and Sheriff Atkins found out anything?”

“No,” he said, disappointment in his gloomy tone. “No big spending going on. At least not yet. I promise you this; we’ll solve this thing. It might take years, but somehow justice will be served.”

“Thanks. I have faith in you. My bus takes off in about an hour. But I couldn’t leave without saying thanks for all you did for my aunt.”

“I was paid well for my trouble,” he assured her, “but I’d have done it for nothing. And from here on in, everything is off the books.”

“She trusted you,” Janet assured him, “and I think she knows you’re still taking care of things the way she’d wanted.”

“I hope so.” He grimly sighed.

Janet turned back toward the barn’s main room. Excited patrons were carrying the treasures they’d won out to their cars and trucks.

“Kind of sad to see her stuff spread out in a hundred different directions,” Johns said. “It took her a lifetime to bring it all together.”

Janet shook her head. “I kind of think she’d be happy that so many were blessed with things they’d always dreamed of having. It’s like a little piece of her will now be in half the homes in the area.”

“With as many people as she helped,” Johns corrected the young woman, “a big part of her was there long before anyone purchased a piece of her furniture.”

The schoolteacher turned to face him, her right eyebrow arched. “Guess helping others was her legacy. That’s something to shoot for in my own life.”

Johns nodded. Abbi’s touch was all over the area. She had given away not just her money; time and time again she had given her heart. Everyone in the town was better for having known her. That was what made his suspicions about her death even more difficult to swallow. This wonderful, caring woman, as eccentric as she was, deserved a better final chapter than the one now written for her. He only prayed he could be a part of making sure when the life’s book was finally completed the biggest mystery would somehow be solved, but for the moment he had nothing new to hang those hopes on.

Chapter 10

C
arole Hall had been delivered to the hospital’s front door in the customary wheelchair and now stood on the hospital steps, her baby in her arms, and her husband beside her. She glanced out toward the parking lot for the family’s Chevy coupe. But even in the bright morning sunlight of a perfect summer day, she couldn’t spot it. As their car was always the most beat-up jalopy in any lot, she was more than a bit mystified.

“Did you borrow someone’s car?”

George grinned. “No, I brought ours. You don’t think I wanted my daughter’s first ride to be a charity case. She’s just going to have to get used to our car.”

Carole surveyed the street and parking lot again. The familiar Chevy wasn’t there. She was sure of it. “Did you park around back?”

“No, sweetheart. I parked on the street. Didn’t want you walking too far. After all, you just had a baby, and that is a pretty traumatic event.”

The new mother once again scanned the landscape. There were lots of cars around the hospital. They were old and new. Most were Fords or Chevrolets, but there was a fair number of Dodges, Plymouths, Hudsons, and even a long-nosed Lincoln and a sporty Auburn, but their coupe was not one of those. She glanced back to her husband. As she did, his grin was larger than the cat that swallowed the canary.

“That yellow one, parked right behind the Auburn.” He was pointing. “That’s ours.”

Carole’s gaze first darted to the red-and-blue speedster and then to the bright Packard. As the incredible sedan filled her eyes, she whispered, “It’s ours? How?”

“I bought it at an auction today,” he explained.

She whirled to face her husband, a half-crazed look in her eye. Holding Rose tightly in her arms she asked, “Have you lost your mind? We can’t afford to make payments on a car like that. George, what were you thinking?”

“I stole it,” he calmly replied.

“Did you rob a bank, too?”

“No.” He laughed. “I paid cash for it. No one made an offer on it. I got it for four hundred.”

Carole’s eyes went back to the car, desperately searching for flaws. “Four hundred? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” he assured her. “It is like a brand-new car, though it is cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“I’ll explain later. It’s just local gossip anyway. But for the moment I want to get you and Rose into our Packard and drive you two beautiful women home.”

Sliding his hand under Carole’s elbow, George ushered her down the steps to the car. As he opened the front passenger door, she couldn’t help but smile.

“It is beautiful,” she noted as she slid, with her baby in her arms, into the seat.

George nodded, closed the door, sprinted around the Packard’s nose, and jumped in the driver’s side. After gently touching his daughter’s head, he flipped the key and hit the starter. A second later the eight cylinder motor quietly came to life.

“It’s really ours?” Carole asked as he pulled out into the street, turned a corner, and headed east toward Oakwood. “I mean this isn’t some kind of joke?”

“No,” he assured her, “it is ours. I have the ownership documents in the glove box.”

As her eyes scanned the ornate instrument panel, she grinned, “This is amazing. It’s like we are somebody. I feel like a queen.”

“In my eyes you are, and that little girl is a princess,” he boomed, his voice filling every corner of the car’s massive interior. “So you should ride in a car befitting royalty.”

“George, you’re so crazy.”

“No,” he replied, “just in love. I’m crazy in love with you, Rose, and life in general. And that faith you are always talking about. The faith to say a prayer and expect results …”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Well, I said a prayer that this car could be ours. And I think God convinced everyone else that it was cursed so that we could afford it. He knew we had to have a good vehicle, and He arranged for us to get this one.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Are you sure it’s not?”

“No,” she admitted. “It just doesn’t sound right to me.”

As George pulled off of Main Street and onto Highway 150, he shrugged. “All I know is that we should never look a gift horse or a gift of horsepower in the mouth. Take my word for it,” he added as he patted the steering wheel, “this yellow Packard is going to be the best thing that ever happened to us.”

“Don’t know about that, George,” Carole replied. “I think I might put Rose a bit ahead of the car. But I will agree that it is the brightest-colored thing in our lives. There can be no doubt about that!”

As the car roared down the highway, the new mother looked down at her baby. And just then the little one smiled. She must’ve liked the car, too.

Chapter 11

August 8, 1937

I
t was a warm, muggy Sunday morning, a day surely made for being lazy and resting. But at least one person in Oakwood had not slept in. Even though it barely had a hint of dust on the hood, George had gotten up early to wash and wax the Packard. He wanted it clean enough to eat off of before driving it to church. Rose was being christened today, and he had to make sure her six-block ride to the Methodist Church was in a fully polished sedan worthy of a president or king.

Now, three hours later, outfitted in his best suit, a navy blue, double-breasted pinstriped model, a white shirt, and red-striped tie, he looked every bit the magazine image of a proud father. And in the three weeks since his baby had come home he had learned a great deal. He could warm up milk, fill a bottle, burp Rose, and even change her diaper. Just last night Carole had let him bathe Rose for the first time. So he felt a bit more confident about being able to fulfill the scary and often overwhelming role of being a father. It had not been nearly as hard as he imagined in those moments before Rose came into this world.