Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Sam backed up tripping over his own feet. The others froze. There was a moment of silence.
"What?" Henry finally asked as a stuttering Sam got to his feet, still backing away from the jars on the shelf
Slowly, George took a few steps closer to the wall. At first he could not see what made Sam scream like a girl. Then, as he got closer, his eyes widened and he said, "Holy crap!"
"What?!" came from the others.
"It's Jr." He looked back at them, and then again at the shelf. "It's JR!" He pointed to the jars. " He's in the jar. No, wait, he's in all the jars." George moved down the row of jars. "He's in all of them. Look!"
Slowly, one by one, the others moved closer to George and looked at what looked like Jr in the jars. In all of them, he was looking out at them and mouthing something. It was as if a thousand of them were all one and the same. And he was mouthing something and making motions with his hands.
George looked closer. He actually tapped on one. The tiny Jr backed up and mouthed something.
"It must be an illusion." he said as he picked up a jar. The tiny Jr. fell backwards onto his bottom. All the tiny Jr's fell. Henry laughed, and Sally giggled.
"Hey Jr, come on out of there" Fred was closer to the large glowing globe. He could see a fallen Jr sitting inside the object. George turned around with a jar in his hand and walked over to where Fred was now standing. They were all looking from one thing to another, and back and forth at each other. No one knew what was going on, or what to do.
"What the heck does this have to do with pickles I'd like to know." Fred asked. "hey Jr can you hear us?"
A nod and wild hand gestures, pointing at George and the jar in his hand. George looked from the big Jr in the globe to the tiny Jr in the jar making the same motions. He looked puzzled.
Sally finally said, "I think he wants you open the jar." her eyes were wide.
George looked again at the jar. He righted it so the tiny Jr could stand up. Then he carefully took hold of the metal ringed top and began to turn, slowly.
When the jar was open a green vapor came from inside the jar. No Jr. He quickly looked at the globe. The big Jr was still there, but now had a look of horror on his face. He mouthed the word 'no' and shook his head.
George tipped the jar over to see if anything would come out. Nothing. He took the lid and screwed it back on. Now there was an empty jar. He put it back on the shelf. It remained empty. Just an empty canning jar.
"What do you think it means?" Sam asked.
"I don't know." George answered. "But that Jr," pointing to the Jr in the globe, " doesn't seem to have liked it. He's freaking out in there." And Jr was wildly gesturing with his arms now.
Fred took another jar off the shelf and quickly opened it. Again a puff of greenish smoke and an empty jar. He replaced the lid and took another one and quickly did the same thing.
"Stop." George hollered and took hold of Fred's arm. Look at Jr!" He turned Fred around to look at the Jr in the globe.
Jr was now shaking his head. But something was strange about him. He seemed to be fading.
"Look, you can almost see through him." Sally said and moved closer to the globe. It was true. He was starting to fade, and the strange green light was glowing bright and then dim, bright and then dim.
"Don't touch any more of those jars." George instructed. " I think that's what's making him fade." Then he said, "This is too weird. Hey, Jr, can you hear us?" Jr nodded again.
"What should we do?" George asked him. Jr shrugged his shoulders. After thinking a moment, he asked, " Do you think we should go get your dad?"
Jr stood motionless for a moment and shrugged his shoulders again. The others all looked at one another.
"Lets take a vote." George said. "Who thinks we should go get his dad?" and he raised his hand. Fred raised his. Sally and Sam did not. Henry looked at them and then raised his. Jr was in the globe waving his hand in the air as if he were also voting.
" Well, that answers that."
"Wait," Sally said. "We are going to get in a whole lot of trouble for being down here in the first place. Bad enough we are in the factory at all. But this is huge."
"You got a better idea?" George looked directly at her. She looked back at him, defiant, and then slowly her expression turned to resignation and she said, "no."
They all turned at once to leave the room and head for the stairs.
"Wait!" George said again. " I think one of us should stay here. Just in case."
"Just in case what?" Fred asked.
" I don't know. Just, just in case." He said. "Fred, you stay here. We'll be right back."
"Hey, that's not fair!. Henry, you stay!"
Henry shook his head and said, " No, I'm the oldest, I should go." What being the oldest had anything to do with anything, no one really knew, but he was always saying that, and they were always agreeing. Fred looked from one to the other. He wanted to say something, but finally went back over to an overturned crate and sat down with a huff. The others rushed from the room.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Finally, after what seemed forever, the door opened a crack and a very bright cheek Sally was sticking her hand out and waving for them to come in. One by one, they climbed the stairs, looking cautiously around, and crept into the Pickle Factory. Jr was the last one in, and as he closed the door behind him, the smell of vinegar assaulted his nose. The others had similar expressions of distaste on their faces.
"Oh, forget the smell." Sally said excitedly, "Wait til you see what I found!. Come on, follow me." She pulled hold of George's jacket and drew him into the darkened hall. The others followed.
Sally hurried, while the others took in the sight of the place they had never been allowed inside before.
"Come on, look later." She urged, and they quickly caught up with her.
"Where are we going?" George asked. "What did you find?"
"I have to show you." She kept moving. " When I came down the stairs, I went too far and ended up in the basement. That's what took me so long. You know how the stairs at school keep going around and around, well, it's like that. I just went down too many."
Realizing they were all headed to the basement, Jr paused a moment, "Hey, that's where the deliveries come in. You know all the cucumbers and stuff from the farm. What could be so exciting down there." Truth be known, he was a little frightened of basements. They were always so dark and smelly. And you could never tell what was what.
"Just follow me." She had reached the stairwell. Without pausing, she started down the metal steps making a lot of noise as she went. The others followed, forgetting now the need to be quiet. When Sally got to the bottom step she came to an abrupt stop. There were two metal doors, with small square window too high for them to see through.
Sally, a little more reserved now, said, "Now don't freak out." as she slowly opened the door. It was even darker in here then the hallway had been. And it smelled bad. Really bad. Like rotten vegetables. And stinky mold or something. But as Sally slowly opened the door wider, over to the right was something rather odd. There was a strange green glow coming from something that looked like a human sized light bulb.
They all stopped in the doorway and stared. What was it? No one moved. No one spoke. It certainly didn't look a machine or anything.
After a long silence, Sally moved a bit forward, "What do you think it is?" She asked almost reverently.
"I wouldn't get too close." Fred said. "Let George look closer."
Sally stepped back, "Okay, George, you go see. Be careful though. It looks like it might be hot."
George looked at the others, took a gulp and inched closer to the globe. He nudged further, slowly, until he was standing about four feet in front of it. He bent over and looked at the bottom. He walked around it. He even stood up as high as he could, to see if he could see over the top of it. He couldn't.
" I don't know what it is. It doesn't look like it's plugged in anywhere. And I can't see where the light is coming from. It doesn't look like there's anything inside it."
"Is it hot?" Henry asked.
"I don't think so. It doesn't feel warm from here. Should I get closer?"
Henry thought a moment and then said, "No, you come back over here, you better let me get closer, I'm the biggest."
So George stepped backwards and lined up with the others, as Henry moved closer. He got to with two feet of it. Tentatively he put his hand out. Should he touch it? It didn't seem warm. Taking the plunge he took a finger and touched it. He jumped back as it zapped him.
"Geez, I coulda been electrified!" His voice squealed. The others took in breathes of horror at what they almost did. Henry, holding his finger, stepped back for the others to inspect his hand.
Sally, being the girl, took Henry's hand and held up his finger. "It's not even red. You didn't get electrocuted!" she pushed his hand back at him.
" I didn't say I did, I said I ALMOST did." Henry cradled his hand and the imagined injury. "I think we should just leave it alone."
Jr, who had been watching terrified, now stepped forward, a sudden need to be brave. He was the youngest, and the smallest, and he was new to all this adventure business, but he wanted to touch that thing in the worst way. What was the worst thing that could happen? So he got a shock. Big deal.
He pushed past George and Henry and walked right up to the glowing bulb. He lifted both his hands, and while the others yelled "NO", he firmly placed both hands on the thing.
There was smoke. Green smelly smoke. The others choked and gagged. Their eyes watered. They couldn't see. "Jr?" "Jr are you okay?" "Jr where the heck are you?" They coughed. After several minutes and no word from Jr, the smoke had begun to clear. They all looked around at each other. Where was Jr? They all collectively looked at the globe. It had resumed its greenish glow, but now had smoke coming from the inside.
"What the heck?" Sam choked out. "Where'd he go?" He took a step closer to the globe, but not too close, he didn't want to disappear too.
They started to panic. They called out, "JR." and wandered around the basement looking for him. When no Jr appeared, they were in full blown panic.
"What do we do?" Sally, who was normally not a typical whining girl, actually almost cried.
" Now wait." George said, "Let's think about this for a second. He can't have really gone anywhere. He's probably just hiding. Besides, where would he go? " But they were all thinking the same thing. Inside the glowing monster. "Lets look for him. Someone find the lights." He took charge for the moment. Lights having been found and turned on, did nothing to make them feel any better. This was a odd room. On the wall across from the globe, were shelves lined with lots of canning jars. Lots and lots of them. But they weren't empty. And they weren't filled with pickles.
Sam moved closer to inspect what was inside the rows and rows of jars.
He screamed.
"Oh, forget the smell." Sally said excitedly, "Wait til you see what I found!. Come on, follow me." She pulled hold of George's jacket and drew him into the darkened hall. The others followed.
Sally hurried, while the others took in the sight of the place they had never been allowed inside before.
"Come on, look later." She urged, and they quickly caught up with her.
"Where are we going?" George asked. "What did you find?"
"I have to show you." She kept moving. " When I came down the stairs, I went too far and ended up in the basement. That's what took me so long. You know how the stairs at school keep going around and around, well, it's like that. I just went down too many."
Realizing they were all headed to the basement, Jr paused a moment, "Hey, that's where the deliveries come in. You know all the cucumbers and stuff from the farm. What could be so exciting down there." Truth be known, he was a little frightened of basements. They were always so dark and smelly. And you could never tell what was what.
"Just follow me." She had reached the stairwell. Without pausing, she started down the metal steps making a lot of noise as she went. The others followed, forgetting now the need to be quiet. When Sally got to the bottom step she came to an abrupt stop. There were two metal doors, with small square window too high for them to see through.
Sally, a little more reserved now, said, "Now don't freak out." as she slowly opened the door. It was even darker in here then the hallway had been. And it smelled bad. Really bad. Like rotten vegetables. And stinky mold or something. But as Sally slowly opened the door wider, over to the right was something rather odd. There was a strange green glow coming from something that looked like a human sized light bulb.
They all stopped in the doorway and stared. What was it? No one moved. No one spoke. It certainly didn't look a machine or anything.
After a long silence, Sally moved a bit forward, "What do you think it is?" She asked almost reverently.
"I wouldn't get too close." Fred said. "Let George look closer."
Sally stepped back, "Okay, George, you go see. Be careful though. It looks like it might be hot."
George looked at the others, took a gulp and inched closer to the globe. He nudged further, slowly, until he was standing about four feet in front of it. He bent over and looked at the bottom. He walked around it. He even stood up as high as he could, to see if he could see over the top of it. He couldn't.
" I don't know what it is. It doesn't look like it's plugged in anywhere. And I can't see where the light is coming from. It doesn't look like there's anything inside it."
"Is it hot?" Henry asked.
"I don't think so. It doesn't feel warm from here. Should I get closer?"
Henry thought a moment and then said, "No, you come back over here, you better let me get closer, I'm the biggest."
So George stepped backwards and lined up with the others, as Henry moved closer. He got to with two feet of it. Tentatively he put his hand out. Should he touch it? It didn't seem warm. Taking the plunge he took a finger and touched it. He jumped back as it zapped him.
"Geez, I coulda been electrified!" His voice squealed. The others took in breathes of horror at what they almost did. Henry, holding his finger, stepped back for the others to inspect his hand.
Sally, being the girl, took Henry's hand and held up his finger. "It's not even red. You didn't get electrocuted!" she pushed his hand back at him.
" I didn't say I did, I said I ALMOST did." Henry cradled his hand and the imagined injury. "I think we should just leave it alone."
Jr, who had been watching terrified, now stepped forward, a sudden need to be brave. He was the youngest, and the smallest, and he was new to all this adventure business, but he wanted to touch that thing in the worst way. What was the worst thing that could happen? So he got a shock. Big deal.
He pushed past George and Henry and walked right up to the glowing bulb. He lifted both his hands, and while the others yelled "NO", he firmly placed both hands on the thing.
There was smoke. Green smelly smoke. The others choked and gagged. Their eyes watered. They couldn't see. "Jr?" "Jr are you okay?" "Jr where the heck are you?" They coughed. After several minutes and no word from Jr, the smoke had begun to clear. They all looked around at each other. Where was Jr? They all collectively looked at the globe. It had resumed its greenish glow, but now had smoke coming from the inside.
"What the heck?" Sam choked out. "Where'd he go?" He took a step closer to the globe, but not too close, he didn't want to disappear too.
They started to panic. They called out, "JR." and wandered around the basement looking for him. When no Jr appeared, they were in full blown panic.
"What do we do?" Sally, who was normally not a typical whining girl, actually almost cried.
" Now wait." George said, "Let's think about this for a second. He can't have really gone anywhere. He's probably just hiding. Besides, where would he go? " But they were all thinking the same thing. Inside the glowing monster. "Lets look for him. Someone find the lights." He took charge for the moment. Lights having been found and turned on, did nothing to make them feel any better. This was a odd room. On the wall across from the globe, were shelves lined with lots of canning jars. Lots and lots of them. But they weren't empty. And they weren't filled with pickles.
Sam moved closer to inspect what was inside the rows and rows of jars.
He screamed.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Jr was definitely not sure about this. He didn't know where a broken window was. He certainly didn't know how to get in the building, and really wasn't sure where anything was in the building. George was right when he said he had a 'say'. Jr had known for some time that George dad had some sort of secret agreement about the factory. He had heard his father and George's father, George Sr. arguing about it one time outside the kitchen door. He couldn't really understand what exactly they were talking about, but he knew he heard his father say, "you are a silent partner, sir. A silent partner." Whatever that meant. He thought a silent member meant that he could help Jr's father sometime. He had been two years younger at the time, and wasn't sure exactly.
As the gang traipsed to the back of the factory, it was getting lighter out. George said, " We better go quick in case anyone sees us." He jumped up onto a pile of dirt as the others followed him. It was a steep pile and he grabbed Sally's arm first and told her to follow him. He leaned over to the building and grabbed hold of a metal bar beside a window on the second floor.
"We're gonna have to climb down to get in. I know that screen is broken and the window is always open a little. If I can slide it open, I'll shove Sally in and she can open it up so the rest of us can get in easier." Nods all around as George climbed a little higher on the pile. Loose dirt fell as the rest of the gang followed up. Jr and Sam held back a little, Sam because there wasn't enough room for all of them on the pile, and Jr because he was sure this was not a good idea.
After several minutes of struggling with the window, Sally managed to squeeze through the small opening. Once she got inside she tried pushing up the window so the others could follow. She couldn't get it. She hit at it, shoved at it, and finally told George, " I can't get it. I think it's stuck." George slid down the dirt, grabbed the metal bar and began pushing at the4 window to help it along. There was nothing for it. It wouldn't budge. After some discussion among the boys, it was decided that Sally should move to the next window and try opening that. There was no bar for George to grab on to this time, so they all waited until they could see Sally in the other window. They could see her struggle with it. She finally shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. They watched as she made her way back to the first window.
"I think it's locked." She said and pushed her hair out of her face. " I think we need to find another way."
Jr, having decided that this might actually be an adventure, offered some advice.
"Why don't you go to the front door and unlock it from the inside?" He knew there was a dead bolt. George looked at Jr.
"Hey, that's a good idea. Now tell her how to get to the front of building."
Now there was a problem. Jr had been in the building so seldom, he didn't really know how to navigate. Obviously Sally would have to go downstairs, but he wasn't even sure where she was now, nor how to get to the stairs. He looked first at George, and then the rest of the fellas. He had a blank stare on his face as George said, "Come on, give."
"Ahem", Jr said without realizing he sounded a little to like his father. "Well, hmmm.."
Finally, George frustrated, looked him in the eye. "Don't tell me you don't know how to get around in that place," he thumbed the building. " Where did you come from? Mars?"
Jr, swallowed, "Well Father has never really let me into work with him. He says it's a man's world, and when I become a man, I will work there." How odd, he thought. Just a little while ago he had thought he had reached that milestone. He shrugged his shoulders. "It shouldn't be too hard. There must be door in the room where Sally is, and a hallway. And it must lead to a staircase."
Sally could see what was going on outside, but couldn't hear anything, as the boys had moved further back on the dirt pile.
"find the door and go down the stairs. Find the front door." George instructed. Sally nodded and quickly disappeared. Sam leading, the rest of the crew slid back down the dirt and raced around to the front of the building. When they reached the front door, they decided it would be safer to hide under the stairs, in case anyone was at the diner yet. They certainly didn't want to be found out.
They waited, And waited some more. Minutes ticked by as the Fred gave George a push and whispered, "Maybe she can't unlock the door." Why exactly he was whispering was any one's guess. It was all part of the adventure.
"Go see." Fred shoved George again. George was always the ring leader although he was the youngest of the three brothers. Fred, the middle child, always pushed George around to make the decisions and Henry being the oldest was always the head of reason.
George shoved Fred back and said, "You go." Fred shook his head.
Finally after some more minutes passed, Sam stood up and whispered, "I'll go." Looking quickly both ways, and across the street to the diner, he made his way up the steps. He squatted down, so as not to be easily seen. He gave the door a try. Nothing.
As the gang traipsed to the back of the factory, it was getting lighter out. George said, " We better go quick in case anyone sees us." He jumped up onto a pile of dirt as the others followed him. It was a steep pile and he grabbed Sally's arm first and told her to follow him. He leaned over to the building and grabbed hold of a metal bar beside a window on the second floor.
"We're gonna have to climb down to get in. I know that screen is broken and the window is always open a little. If I can slide it open, I'll shove Sally in and she can open it up so the rest of us can get in easier." Nods all around as George climbed a little higher on the pile. Loose dirt fell as the rest of the gang followed up. Jr and Sam held back a little, Sam because there wasn't enough room for all of them on the pile, and Jr because he was sure this was not a good idea.
After several minutes of struggling with the window, Sally managed to squeeze through the small opening. Once she got inside she tried pushing up the window so the others could follow. She couldn't get it. She hit at it, shoved at it, and finally told George, " I can't get it. I think it's stuck." George slid down the dirt, grabbed the metal bar and began pushing at the4 window to help it along. There was nothing for it. It wouldn't budge. After some discussion among the boys, it was decided that Sally should move to the next window and try opening that. There was no bar for George to grab on to this time, so they all waited until they could see Sally in the other window. They could see her struggle with it. She finally shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. They watched as she made her way back to the first window.
"I think it's locked." She said and pushed her hair out of her face. " I think we need to find another way."
Jr, having decided that this might actually be an adventure, offered some advice.
"Why don't you go to the front door and unlock it from the inside?" He knew there was a dead bolt. George looked at Jr.
"Hey, that's a good idea. Now tell her how to get to the front of building."
Now there was a problem. Jr had been in the building so seldom, he didn't really know how to navigate. Obviously Sally would have to go downstairs, but he wasn't even sure where she was now, nor how to get to the stairs. He looked first at George, and then the rest of the fellas. He had a blank stare on his face as George said, "Come on, give."
"Ahem", Jr said without realizing he sounded a little to like his father. "Well, hmmm.."
Finally, George frustrated, looked him in the eye. "Don't tell me you don't know how to get around in that place," he thumbed the building. " Where did you come from? Mars?"
Jr, swallowed, "Well Father has never really let me into work with him. He says it's a man's world, and when I become a man, I will work there." How odd, he thought. Just a little while ago he had thought he had reached that milestone. He shrugged his shoulders. "It shouldn't be too hard. There must be door in the room where Sally is, and a hallway. And it must lead to a staircase."
Sally could see what was going on outside, but couldn't hear anything, as the boys had moved further back on the dirt pile.
"find the door and go down the stairs. Find the front door." George instructed. Sally nodded and quickly disappeared. Sam leading, the rest of the crew slid back down the dirt and raced around to the front of the building. When they reached the front door, they decided it would be safer to hide under the stairs, in case anyone was at the diner yet. They certainly didn't want to be found out.
They waited, And waited some more. Minutes ticked by as the Fred gave George a push and whispered, "Maybe she can't unlock the door." Why exactly he was whispering was any one's guess. It was all part of the adventure.
"Go see." Fred shoved George again. George was always the ring leader although he was the youngest of the three brothers. Fred, the middle child, always pushed George around to make the decisions and Henry being the oldest was always the head of reason.
George shoved Fred back and said, "You go." Fred shook his head.
Finally after some more minutes passed, Sam stood up and whispered, "I'll go." Looking quickly both ways, and across the street to the diner, he made his way up the steps. He squatted down, so as not to be easily seen. He gave the door a try. Nothing.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
"Jimmy Fish, you get your bicycle and get over here, Mrs. Smith needs this order for dinner." Mrs. Fish had that mother tone that said get over here right now or else.
And so it went, Friday afternoon in the middle of town. As dusk fell, so too did the group get smaller and smaller until the only ones left now resorted to playing catch was Henry and Fred. Their dad had gone on ahead because he had the weekly pay and their mom would be looking for it. A typical afternoon. As the last of the day's light was disappearing the door of the pickle factory opened and Mr. Pepperson, in his black pinstripe suit with the shiny black shoes, came out, turned locked the door, checked his pocket watch against the big round lighted clock on the corner of Town Hall, clock, snapped his watch shut and proceeded down the wooden steps.
There in the corner of the building stood Jr. and Mildred. Jr had put his jacket back on, a bit dusty now from having been thrown on the ground. Mildred looked as pretty as she had that morning. She never seemed to have spot of dirt on her. No loose hair ever dangled in her face. Black patton leather shoes were neither scuffed nor lacked shine. Her lips were now pursed into a frown.
"Father?" her tiny voice questioned, " Will we be going to Aunt Dorothy's tomorrow?"
Looking straight ahead as he took her hand, Jr in the rear, they began their walk home to the house on the hill. He did not answer her. So she asked again, "Father, ARE we going to Aunt Dorothy's tomorrow? You promised you know. When Mother asked you last night at the dinner table you told her she could go see that old sister of hers whenever she wanted."
Maxwell looked down at Mildred, looked straight ahead again and 'ahemed'.
She looked up at him, expecting an answer, receiving nothing, she looked at the ground as they walked on. Her father never seemed to quite answer any question. He was forever 'aheming' and 'hmmming'.
While they sat in the large dinning room slurping soup, Mrs. Pepperson brought up the question of Aunt Dorothy's. She neither looked at her husband, nor either of her children. She more or less talked into the soup.
Maxwell 'ahemed' and then murmured, "got inventory." He had a nasal sounding voice. He sniffed and took a sip of soup.
Mrs. Pepperson sighed and spoke into the soup again. "I suppose I will take little Mildred and go on by myself. You may as well keep Jr with you. He is old enough now."
Mr. Pepperson looked up from his soup. This was something new. Jr stay here? With him? Why that was unheard of. He had important work to do. He didn't need the child hanging around underfoot.
"No."
Mrs. Pepperson looked up from her soup. "No?"
"Yes. I said no."
Mrs. Pepperson's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. She didn't often question her husband's judgement. But she had been thinking about this for awhile now. Jr was nine years old. That was plenty old enough to 'help' his father. And truth be known, the child needed a bit more of a fatherly influence.
There was no further discussion at the table, and as the dishes were being cleared, Jr wondered if he was going to Aunt Dorothy's or staying home and getting the rare chance to go to the factory.
Chapter 3
When morning dawned that Saturday morning, Jr still wasn't sure how his day would turn out, but his mother had come in, opened the shade and told him to get dressed in his jeans and sneakers and come down for breakfast. That was the usual Saturday attire, so there was no clue there. Having done a quick comb over of his very straight, very black hair, Jr tramped down the stairs nosily, jumping the last step to the floor.
Mr. Pepperson was seated at the kitchen table with his head behind a newspaper.
"JR." He said loudly. "Must you be so loud?"
Jr, not having said a word, took his place at the table. It looked like cold cereal today. That was odd. Usually, Saturdays and Sundays were reserved for eggs or pancakes or french toast. He looked around. For the first time he noticed that his mother was no where to be found. Neither was Mildred. The table was set for just himself and his father. It dawned on him that he must be going with his father to work. He smiled and poured cereal into his bowl.
There was no sound from behind the newspaper, except for the occasionally hand reaching around for the cup of coffee on the table.
Jr ate in silence for a while. "Father, " he finally said, "what time will we be going to the factory? Do you have very much to do? What will I do?"
"Ahem."
Jr shrugged and continued chewing his cereal. When he was done, he put his bowl in the sink and stood in front of the counter, waiting.
After several minutes, his father slowly put down the newspaper. " Ahem, well then Jr, you may go out and play." And that was that.
Deflated, Jr's face fell. He supposed he should have expected this. His father never took him to work. Little beknownst to him, his mother had taken Mildred as soon as she had come into Jr's room, and had gone on ahead to Dorothy's. She had never done that before. But then, he had never been home alone with his father before either. He wasn't sure what to do. He stood in front of the counter as he watched his father rise and disappear into the other room.
"I won't be going to the factory today." Came a voice from the study. Now Jr was confused. If he wasn't going to the factory? What was he going to do?
Jr finally took his gray jacket off the coat tree by the back door and quietly let himself out of the house. It was early. The air was still crisp although it would undoubtedly warm up as the sun grew higher in the sky. He shuffled down the back path, passing his brand new Schwinn bicycle, passed the unraveled hose he was suppose to roll up last night and had forgotten. He got to the driveway and stopped. He wondered if it was too early for the guys to be out yet. Never having been given any sort of freedom before, he was quite uncertain about what the guys even did on the weekends. He was usually at Aunt Dorothy's or in the city shopping with his mother.Pausing at the bottom of the driveway, looking both ways, he decided to head downtown. He could have gone down the hill and headed over one of the side streets to see if any of the guys were out, but he figured he would have more success if he went to where they usually hung around.
As he shuffled his feet in the leaves, he suddenly stopped. Was someone following him? He thought he heard some crunching leaves. When he stopped, the crunching stopped. He walked a little and the crunching started again. He stopped. Several times he repeated this. He wasn't exactly afraid. it was probably just one of the guys trying to scare him.
"Hey, who's doing that? I'm not afraid you know." His voice sounded loud in the early morning quiet. Of course there was no response. He walked some more. More crunching.
"Stop it!" He said loudly. He walked a little faster. More crunching. "I said stop it. Come on out !!" He walk had quickened to a jog. He was approaching the center of town. He spotted Fred and Sam. His heart pounding a little harder than usual, he slowed his pace and joined up with the two, casually as if no one had been chasing him.
"Mornin'" he mumbled. Fred and Sam both looked at Jr as if he were a ghost.
"Hey," they both said at once. "What're you doing here?"
Jr. shrugged and answered, " My dad let me out." Well, that didn't come out just right. " I mean, my father let me come and play."
Sam sniggered. Let him out was more like it. They had never seen Jr or Mildred for that matter. He sure would like to know what went on in that big old house on the hill. Those Peppersons were weird.
Standing around for a few minutes, Jr's heart rate returned to normal, though he kept looking around waiting for someone to jump out at him.
"What do you guys do on Saturdays?' he finally asked. The two looked at him as if he had sprouted a horn or something.
Fred smiled finally and said, "Stuff." Jr shrugged and stood there with the two of them. As the minutes passed, George and Henry arrived as did Sally. She was a tomb boy who wore jeans and was always with the guys.
Finally when no one else showed up Henry said, "So, what's it to be today boys?" Some looks passed among the boys.
" We could go bike over to the farm and see if there are any pumpkins." someone offered, which was met with "nah, no".
"How about seeing if there are any fish in the creek?' Again, no.
Finally, George's face lit up, "Hey, I have a great idea. Lets go to the factory."
Faces looked up at him. This was a new idea. Then they all looked at Jr. He must have a key.
"Oh, no, no, no..." he backed up, " we can't do that. My father would kill me. Besides I don't know how to get in." Although he knew he shouldn't even consider the possibility, but then again.
"Aw, we could get in the broken window in the back," George said, "besides, I can say who goes in there too you know." The others nodded and after a quick vote, they all headed around to the back of the building.
And so it went, Friday afternoon in the middle of town. As dusk fell, so too did the group get smaller and smaller until the only ones left now resorted to playing catch was Henry and Fred. Their dad had gone on ahead because he had the weekly pay and their mom would be looking for it. A typical afternoon. As the last of the day's light was disappearing the door of the pickle factory opened and Mr. Pepperson, in his black pinstripe suit with the shiny black shoes, came out, turned locked the door, checked his pocket watch against the big round lighted clock on the corner of Town Hall, clock, snapped his watch shut and proceeded down the wooden steps.
There in the corner of the building stood Jr. and Mildred. Jr had put his jacket back on, a bit dusty now from having been thrown on the ground. Mildred looked as pretty as she had that morning. She never seemed to have spot of dirt on her. No loose hair ever dangled in her face. Black patton leather shoes were neither scuffed nor lacked shine. Her lips were now pursed into a frown.
"Father?" her tiny voice questioned, " Will we be going to Aunt Dorothy's tomorrow?"
Looking straight ahead as he took her hand, Jr in the rear, they began their walk home to the house on the hill. He did not answer her. So she asked again, "Father, ARE we going to Aunt Dorothy's tomorrow? You promised you know. When Mother asked you last night at the dinner table you told her she could go see that old sister of hers whenever she wanted."
Maxwell looked down at Mildred, looked straight ahead again and 'ahemed'.
She looked up at him, expecting an answer, receiving nothing, she looked at the ground as they walked on. Her father never seemed to quite answer any question. He was forever 'aheming' and 'hmmming'.
While they sat in the large dinning room slurping soup, Mrs. Pepperson brought up the question of Aunt Dorothy's. She neither looked at her husband, nor either of her children. She more or less talked into the soup.
Maxwell 'ahemed' and then murmured, "got inventory." He had a nasal sounding voice. He sniffed and took a sip of soup.
Mrs. Pepperson sighed and spoke into the soup again. "I suppose I will take little Mildred and go on by myself. You may as well keep Jr with you. He is old enough now."
Mr. Pepperson looked up from his soup. This was something new. Jr stay here? With him? Why that was unheard of. He had important work to do. He didn't need the child hanging around underfoot.
"No."
Mrs. Pepperson looked up from her soup. "No?"
"Yes. I said no."
Mrs. Pepperson's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. She didn't often question her husband's judgement. But she had been thinking about this for awhile now. Jr was nine years old. That was plenty old enough to 'help' his father. And truth be known, the child needed a bit more of a fatherly influence.
There was no further discussion at the table, and as the dishes were being cleared, Jr wondered if he was going to Aunt Dorothy's or staying home and getting the rare chance to go to the factory.
Chapter 3
When morning dawned that Saturday morning, Jr still wasn't sure how his day would turn out, but his mother had come in, opened the shade and told him to get dressed in his jeans and sneakers and come down for breakfast. That was the usual Saturday attire, so there was no clue there. Having done a quick comb over of his very straight, very black hair, Jr tramped down the stairs nosily, jumping the last step to the floor.
Mr. Pepperson was seated at the kitchen table with his head behind a newspaper.
"JR." He said loudly. "Must you be so loud?"
Jr, not having said a word, took his place at the table. It looked like cold cereal today. That was odd. Usually, Saturdays and Sundays were reserved for eggs or pancakes or french toast. He looked around. For the first time he noticed that his mother was no where to be found. Neither was Mildred. The table was set for just himself and his father. It dawned on him that he must be going with his father to work. He smiled and poured cereal into his bowl.
There was no sound from behind the newspaper, except for the occasionally hand reaching around for the cup of coffee on the table.
Jr ate in silence for a while. "Father, " he finally said, "what time will we be going to the factory? Do you have very much to do? What will I do?"
"Ahem."
Jr shrugged and continued chewing his cereal. When he was done, he put his bowl in the sink and stood in front of the counter, waiting.
After several minutes, his father slowly put down the newspaper. " Ahem, well then Jr, you may go out and play." And that was that.
Deflated, Jr's face fell. He supposed he should have expected this. His father never took him to work. Little beknownst to him, his mother had taken Mildred as soon as she had come into Jr's room, and had gone on ahead to Dorothy's. She had never done that before. But then, he had never been home alone with his father before either. He wasn't sure what to do. He stood in front of the counter as he watched his father rise and disappear into the other room.
"I won't be going to the factory today." Came a voice from the study. Now Jr was confused. If he wasn't going to the factory? What was he going to do?
Jr finally took his gray jacket off the coat tree by the back door and quietly let himself out of the house. It was early. The air was still crisp although it would undoubtedly warm up as the sun grew higher in the sky. He shuffled down the back path, passing his brand new Schwinn bicycle, passed the unraveled hose he was suppose to roll up last night and had forgotten. He got to the driveway and stopped. He wondered if it was too early for the guys to be out yet. Never having been given any sort of freedom before, he was quite uncertain about what the guys even did on the weekends. He was usually at Aunt Dorothy's or in the city shopping with his mother.Pausing at the bottom of the driveway, looking both ways, he decided to head downtown. He could have gone down the hill and headed over one of the side streets to see if any of the guys were out, but he figured he would have more success if he went to where they usually hung around.
As he shuffled his feet in the leaves, he suddenly stopped. Was someone following him? He thought he heard some crunching leaves. When he stopped, the crunching stopped. He walked a little and the crunching started again. He stopped. Several times he repeated this. He wasn't exactly afraid. it was probably just one of the guys trying to scare him.
"Hey, who's doing that? I'm not afraid you know." His voice sounded loud in the early morning quiet. Of course there was no response. He walked some more. More crunching.
"Stop it!" He said loudly. He walked a little faster. More crunching. "I said stop it. Come on out !!" He walk had quickened to a jog. He was approaching the center of town. He spotted Fred and Sam. His heart pounding a little harder than usual, he slowed his pace and joined up with the two, casually as if no one had been chasing him.
"Mornin'" he mumbled. Fred and Sam both looked at Jr as if he were a ghost.
"Hey," they both said at once. "What're you doing here?"
Jr. shrugged and answered, " My dad let me out." Well, that didn't come out just right. " I mean, my father let me come and play."
Sam sniggered. Let him out was more like it. They had never seen Jr or Mildred for that matter. He sure would like to know what went on in that big old house on the hill. Those Peppersons were weird.
Standing around for a few minutes, Jr's heart rate returned to normal, though he kept looking around waiting for someone to jump out at him.
"What do you guys do on Saturdays?' he finally asked. The two looked at him as if he had sprouted a horn or something.
Fred smiled finally and said, "Stuff." Jr shrugged and stood there with the two of them. As the minutes passed, George and Henry arrived as did Sally. She was a tomb boy who wore jeans and was always with the guys.
Finally when no one else showed up Henry said, "So, what's it to be today boys?" Some looks passed among the boys.
" We could go bike over to the farm and see if there are any pumpkins." someone offered, which was met with "nah, no".
"How about seeing if there are any fish in the creek?' Again, no.
Finally, George's face lit up, "Hey, I have a great idea. Lets go to the factory."
Faces looked up at him. This was a new idea. Then they all looked at Jr. He must have a key.
"Oh, no, no, no..." he backed up, " we can't do that. My father would kill me. Besides I don't know how to get in." Although he knew he shouldn't even consider the possibility, but then again.
"Aw, we could get in the broken window in the back," George said, "besides, I can say who goes in there too you know." The others nodded and after a quick vote, they all headed around to the back of the building.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
George nodded. It seemed he too could smell the pickles.
"Well, when old man Pepperson died, all his history died with him. His kids, his wife, even," he paused, "Mildred, God rest her soul." Henry looked over at George looking to see if anything would change his own facial expression. None did.
Timothy was a little confused.Wasn't Mildred, God rest her soul, George's wife?"
"Well, now Timothy, sit back. This might take some time to sort all out for you."
Now George started talking in a sing song sort of way. Drawing all who were listening back to an earlier time.
The Pickle Factory across the street appeared, the dusty roads, the old flag looked new on the Town Hall. The Five and Ten boosted shining new silver screen doors, and in the window a red rider wagon, bright with new paint. On the sidewalk, pumpkins and cornstalks mingled with dried leaves. The diner/cafes round sign blinked on and off in the early evening sun. There were a crowd of kids hanging around the door of the Pickle Factory. Oh, maybe a dozen or so, girls, boys, dressed in old dusty clothes, cut of jeans and yellow white tee shirts. Old sneakers, piggy tails. Much friendly shoving and pushing. One of the girls had a strap of books. She was suppose to return them to the library, but couldn't resist the daily rite of kids waiting for their dads, uncles, brothers. As soon as the Five o'clock whistle blew, the big heavy wooden double doors opened and out came the humanity that lived out their lives inside the Factory. Father's joined sons with a hug around the neck, a gentle punch, a hug for a daughter.
"Mom made cookies."
"We got to pick up the cleaning, mom said."
"I have to go drop these books off."
"Can we get a game up Dad?"
That last one drew a cheer from the crowd, with echoes of yeah, and can we, and it's not dinner time yet.
A grumbling came from the adults in the group. It had been a long day. But after much haggling, the kids talked the men into a pick up game which set up immediately in the center of the street. Gloves were retrieved from park benches, under man covers. Basses suddenly appeared from the steps beneath the factory stairs. This was a daily ritual.
Sam played catcher. He had to. He was the only one who could afford the glove. George played pitcher. He was good. Fred always played backfield because he was always the first one to be called home for dinner. Little Mildred liked to be close to George so she played shortstop. George's father, George Sr., he played umpire. And he was good too. If his call went your way.There were others too.
And then there was Maxwell. He was Jr. They all called him that. He always wore a suit, although it often got thrown aside when reaching for a grounder. He was set apart a little. It wasn't that he wasn't friends with all the kids, even the girls, but he seemed a bit more prim. Proper. That's probably just because his dad owned the factory. Mildred was like that too. She was tiny for her eight years. Wore piggy tails, and her mother always dressed her is yellow and lace, said it brought out the yellow in her eyes. How she got those eyes, nobody knew. Mrs. Pepperson was pinchish, and had beady brown eyes with mousy hair to match. Mr. Pepperson was small too, and behind his by focals, he had teeny black eyes. The mailman, the kids joked. Although, the mailman was black and had the biggest most beautiful chocolate eyes you could ever wish to look into.
On this day, the game started up as usual, dusty and sweaty, fathers against sons and friends against brothers. It was loud.
"Keep that clamour down!!" Came from across the street at the Five and Ten. It was old Mrs. Fish. And a fitting name for her too. She looked like a fish. And when she was selling the fish from the market, she even smelled like a fish. She was always yelling for the kids, (and their fathers) for being to loud.
"Well, when old man Pepperson died, all his history died with him. His kids, his wife, even," he paused, "Mildred, God rest her soul." Henry looked over at George looking to see if anything would change his own facial expression. None did.
Timothy was a little confused.Wasn't Mildred, God rest her soul, George's wife?"
"Well, now Timothy, sit back. This might take some time to sort all out for you."
Now George started talking in a sing song sort of way. Drawing all who were listening back to an earlier time.
The Pickle Factory across the street appeared, the dusty roads, the old flag looked new on the Town Hall. The Five and Ten boosted shining new silver screen doors, and in the window a red rider wagon, bright with new paint. On the sidewalk, pumpkins and cornstalks mingled with dried leaves. The diner/cafes round sign blinked on and off in the early evening sun. There were a crowd of kids hanging around the door of the Pickle Factory. Oh, maybe a dozen or so, girls, boys, dressed in old dusty clothes, cut of jeans and yellow white tee shirts. Old sneakers, piggy tails. Much friendly shoving and pushing. One of the girls had a strap of books. She was suppose to return them to the library, but couldn't resist the daily rite of kids waiting for their dads, uncles, brothers. As soon as the Five o'clock whistle blew, the big heavy wooden double doors opened and out came the humanity that lived out their lives inside the Factory. Father's joined sons with a hug around the neck, a gentle punch, a hug for a daughter.
"Mom made cookies."
"We got to pick up the cleaning, mom said."
"I have to go drop these books off."
"Can we get a game up Dad?"
That last one drew a cheer from the crowd, with echoes of yeah, and can we, and it's not dinner time yet.
A grumbling came from the adults in the group. It had been a long day. But after much haggling, the kids talked the men into a pick up game which set up immediately in the center of the street. Gloves were retrieved from park benches, under man covers. Basses suddenly appeared from the steps beneath the factory stairs. This was a daily ritual.
Sam played catcher. He had to. He was the only one who could afford the glove. George played pitcher. He was good. Fred always played backfield because he was always the first one to be called home for dinner. Little Mildred liked to be close to George so she played shortstop. George's father, George Sr., he played umpire. And he was good too. If his call went your way.There were others too.
And then there was Maxwell. He was Jr. They all called him that. He always wore a suit, although it often got thrown aside when reaching for a grounder. He was set apart a little. It wasn't that he wasn't friends with all the kids, even the girls, but he seemed a bit more prim. Proper. That's probably just because his dad owned the factory. Mildred was like that too. She was tiny for her eight years. Wore piggy tails, and her mother always dressed her is yellow and lace, said it brought out the yellow in her eyes. How she got those eyes, nobody knew. Mrs. Pepperson was pinchish, and had beady brown eyes with mousy hair to match. Mr. Pepperson was small too, and behind his by focals, he had teeny black eyes. The mailman, the kids joked. Although, the mailman was black and had the biggest most beautiful chocolate eyes you could ever wish to look into.
On this day, the game started up as usual, dusty and sweaty, fathers against sons and friends against brothers. It was loud.
"Keep that clamour down!!" Came from across the street at the Five and Ten. It was old Mrs. Fish. And a fitting name for her too. She looked like a fish. And when she was selling the fish from the market, she even smelled like a fish. She was always yelling for the kids, (and their fathers) for being to loud.
It was a gathering of unusual people who were now seated at the table. Amy had pulled up a chair with a look of bewilderment, as though about to find out something really meaningful. George had come back through the doors with a pan of hot sticky buns, told Amy to fill up every one's cup and took her seat as she got up to pour the coffee. She quickly did the chore, pulled up another chair, put the pot on the neighboring table and sat expectantly again.
Timothy was sure he was about to hear some deep dark secret about this town, or at least the diner or cafe, whichever it was.
They sat there sort of fidgeting and looking at one another waiting for someone to speak. Timothy thought it would be Henry, since he was the one who had offered. All eyes now settled on him.
A clatter from the kitchen let Timothy know they were not alone. Looking up suddenly, surprised, thinking those around the table were the only ones in the building.
"That's Fred." George offered. "He doesn't come out. He's my brother. Keeps to himself. He don't scare anyone anymore, just washes up the dishes and pots and pans and cleans up the place at night."
Timothy nodded, wondered about 'doesn't scare anyone anymore' meant.
A gnarly clearing of throat and Henry started to speak.
"Now then youngster, you think you might want to settle here in town. Do the reporting? Well, you might want to know all the facts first. It's not just any town you know. We have lots of history. It's not the kind of place just anyone would want to settle. We've had our share of bad times, and of course good times. But it's a tight family that lives here."
Timothy wasn't sure if Henry meant 'here' as in the diner or 'here' as in the town. But he listened.
"Oh yes," Mrs. Grimsley put in just then, "you should be here for Christmas. The big town tree in the old lot across the street, the big Thanksgiving Parade. Oh, and in just a few days, Halloween, with all the little children running through the streets in their witches and bum costumes.Too fine a time." She smiled.
" eh-hem," Henry put in, "as I was saying, " there's been some not too good times. Some days seem to drag on by like nothing in the world is going on, and here, it usually doesn't."
There was an almost uncomfortable silence, as if he were about to disclose that deep secret that seemed to be just around the corner. Timothy checked himself. What was he thinking? These were some very nice people, all be it a little eccentric, they were just expounding on their town history of course.
"There was that one time, " Henry said.
Uh oh, here it comes, the skeleton in the closet.
Henry slowly and hand shaking from age, took a sip of his black coffee.
"It was just about when the pickling factory closed up. It was a big uproar. The old man wouldn't sell the lot, or the building. No chance for anything to come in a build maybe a nice grocery, or a new hardware store. Nope, he put it ironclad in his will that the factory would cease to exist, and it was to be destroyed. All to make a lot for the kids. You know, a ball park, a place they could all get together, but right here in the center of town so the grown uppers could keep an eye on them." He put down his cup. "That factory provided 83 people with jobs. When it was shut down, some of them left town. But then, maybe about 23 families or so stayed. They're still here. They stuck it out, some got jobs on the farm over the hill. Some of the women took to laundering, working at the five and dime, sewing, you, know, anything to bring in enough to feed the kids, One time, the women all got together and made pies and cakes and cookies and went and had a bake sale in the next town. They made a boatload of money. You might not think a bake sale is very much, but I'll tell you, for the people who live here don't require much. Just enough to live on, food on the table, a little for fixing up, but then again, we all help one another fixing up."
Timothy wondered where this was going. A little odd to say the least.
"Did anyone ever say why the Pickling man didn't want to keep up his business?" He ventured a question.
"Pepperson". Henry said. "Maxwell Pepperson. He was the pickling king. The pickling factory was called Pepperson Pickles. He thought it was pretty fun that his name was Pepperson and he pickled pickles, not peppers." Henry smiled to reveal some very rotten teeth and brown spaces.
Continuing, he said, " Well now, it is a question why he never did want that building to keep up. It was might nice. Three floors, and a fire escape right there on the front of it." he turned and pointed to the imaginary building across the street in the empty lot.. He was quiet for a moment. Then, "It was a good business. They use to truck those pickles all over the county. Come August and September it was a beehive of activity. You could smell them pickles all over town, the briny smell would be great when they started, but by the end, it was sickening. That is untill they did the sweet pickles. They were pure sugar."
He took a breath in as if he could smell them right now.
Timothy automatically took a breath in and thought he detected a smell of pickle. He shook his head slightly and dismissed it.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Chapter Two
Mrs. Girmsley, a little plump in her green suit, passed Timothy and went to the middle of the diner and sat at a table directly in the middle of the room. She sat facing neither the door nor the kitchen. She had a view of all that went on in here. She primped Priscella and sat her on the seat next to her, fluffing a pillow that was hidden on the seat. Timothy noticed for the first time, that Edith, Mrs. Grimsley, was wearing tight fitting gloves, which she now struggled to remove one finger at a time. With a silent huff, she set the gloves carefully down on the table next to her green purse.
"Amy, I will now have my coffee with cream, 2 eggs poached and a slice of the freshest bread with some of my apple butter spread over it.". She didn't look Amy's way, so didn't notice the eye rolling motion Amy made to Timothy.
"Oh Mrs. Grimsley, we were just discussing the name of the diner and how Mildred always called it the Cafe." She had moved over and poured a fresh steaming cup of coffee.
"Cafe it should have always been." She harrumphed. Picking up a spoon, inspecting it she pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. "Too many generations involved, that's what I say."
Amy looked again at Timothy over Mrs. Grimsley's head and shrugged.
"Well, I'll go tell George to poach your eggs." She moved her way back behind the doors with the two round windows.
"May I ask you a question?" Timothy swiveled again in his seat.
"You may ask anything you like, it doesn't mean I will answer it to your liking."
"Okay. I just wondered what you meant by too many generations?"
"Just what I said, too many involved in this place. One comes, stays, then another comes, stays, and they never really leave. Oh, except for Mildred, God rest her soul, she passed on a few years back, I cannot recall exactly how many years. But the others? No one ever wants to leave. They just keep staying on."
"You mean there is more then one owner?"
"Young man, that is not what I said. "She pursed her lipsticked red lips." I said, they come, they just don't leave. See Henry over there? He's been here since... since.. well I don't remember since when, but longer even then I have been here."
"You come every day?"
"I am here. Have my breakfast, and then move on to the library to volunteer. We don't use any new systems. Just the old card catalog. My job is to make sure every care is always in the correct spot. You know, when those kids come in looking for books for classes, or something to read, they just don't have the what with all to put those cards back in their proper places. So that is what I do." She finished. "And you? What are you doing?"
Timothy straightened his back a little. He felt as though he were being questioned by a school teacher. Maybe she was one before she volunteered at the library.
" I am here to interview for old Sam;s job at the paper." He smiled easily, using the name Amy had referred to Sam.
Mrs. Grimsley did not seem amused. "That would be MR. Sam Johnson. Newspaper reporter extraordinaire. He has been doing that job for over 70 years. How long have you been reporting?"
She looked directly into his very blue eyes.
"Well, I graduated and did the backpacking around Europe, then landed a job in a big city, and being from a small town, didn't like it. I want to move to a small town. You know, report on the football games, who gets married, who dies."
"Now why would you want to do a boring job like that?"
"Oh, I kind of have this idea that I can take any news and make it important. Because it is, important I mean, to someone, or someones." He offered that easy smile again. She looked at him with an odd expression.
"Are you one of the ones who will stay?" she asked simply.
Taking no meaning from it, Timothy answered, "Yeah, maybe. Yeah. I might stay."
Breakfasts having been served, coffee cups refilled, including Timothy who had actually drank the mucky stuff he claimed to hate, Henry, from behind the paper, growled a bit, noisily put the paper on the table and stood. A pair of well worn jeans hung loosely but snugged with a belt helped keep them up.
" Ya want the story now young man?" He shuffled his slippered feet over to the swivel seat next to Timothy. "But you're gonna have to take a seat at the table. That durn seat ain't so good for my back."
Without speaking, Timothy grabbed his cup, leaving the saucer, and waited for Henry to take a seat and the followed suit. Mrs. Grimsley, also having finished her meal, stood, came to the table and seated Priscilla first on the pillow she had dragged over and then seated herself as if she had been asked.
Mrs. Girmsley, a little plump in her green suit, passed Timothy and went to the middle of the diner and sat at a table directly in the middle of the room. She sat facing neither the door nor the kitchen. She had a view of all that went on in here. She primped Priscella and sat her on the seat next to her, fluffing a pillow that was hidden on the seat. Timothy noticed for the first time, that Edith, Mrs. Grimsley, was wearing tight fitting gloves, which she now struggled to remove one finger at a time. With a silent huff, she set the gloves carefully down on the table next to her green purse.
"Amy, I will now have my coffee with cream, 2 eggs poached and a slice of the freshest bread with some of my apple butter spread over it.". She didn't look Amy's way, so didn't notice the eye rolling motion Amy made to Timothy.
"Oh Mrs. Grimsley, we were just discussing the name of the diner and how Mildred always called it the Cafe." She had moved over and poured a fresh steaming cup of coffee.
"Cafe it should have always been." She harrumphed. Picking up a spoon, inspecting it she pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. "Too many generations involved, that's what I say."
Amy looked again at Timothy over Mrs. Grimsley's head and shrugged.
"Well, I'll go tell George to poach your eggs." She moved her way back behind the doors with the two round windows.
"May I ask you a question?" Timothy swiveled again in his seat.
"You may ask anything you like, it doesn't mean I will answer it to your liking."
"Okay. I just wondered what you meant by too many generations?"
"Just what I said, too many involved in this place. One comes, stays, then another comes, stays, and they never really leave. Oh, except for Mildred, God rest her soul, she passed on a few years back, I cannot recall exactly how many years. But the others? No one ever wants to leave. They just keep staying on."
"You mean there is more then one owner?"
"Young man, that is not what I said. "She pursed her lipsticked red lips." I said, they come, they just don't leave. See Henry over there? He's been here since... since.. well I don't remember since when, but longer even then I have been here."
"You come every day?"
"I am here. Have my breakfast, and then move on to the library to volunteer. We don't use any new systems. Just the old card catalog. My job is to make sure every care is always in the correct spot. You know, when those kids come in looking for books for classes, or something to read, they just don't have the what with all to put those cards back in their proper places. So that is what I do." She finished. "And you? What are you doing?"
Timothy straightened his back a little. He felt as though he were being questioned by a school teacher. Maybe she was one before she volunteered at the library.
" I am here to interview for old Sam;s job at the paper." He smiled easily, using the name Amy had referred to Sam.
Mrs. Grimsley did not seem amused. "That would be MR. Sam Johnson. Newspaper reporter extraordinaire. He has been doing that job for over 70 years. How long have you been reporting?"
She looked directly into his very blue eyes.
"Well, I graduated and did the backpacking around Europe, then landed a job in a big city, and being from a small town, didn't like it. I want to move to a small town. You know, report on the football games, who gets married, who dies."
"Now why would you want to do a boring job like that?"
"Oh, I kind of have this idea that I can take any news and make it important. Because it is, important I mean, to someone, or someones." He offered that easy smile again. She looked at him with an odd expression.
"Are you one of the ones who will stay?" she asked simply.
Taking no meaning from it, Timothy answered, "Yeah, maybe. Yeah. I might stay."
Breakfasts having been served, coffee cups refilled, including Timothy who had actually drank the mucky stuff he claimed to hate, Henry, from behind the paper, growled a bit, noisily put the paper on the table and stood. A pair of well worn jeans hung loosely but snugged with a belt helped keep them up.
" Ya want the story now young man?" He shuffled his slippered feet over to the swivel seat next to Timothy. "But you're gonna have to take a seat at the table. That durn seat ain't so good for my back."
Without speaking, Timothy grabbed his cup, leaving the saucer, and waited for Henry to take a seat and the followed suit. Mrs. Grimsley, also having finished her meal, stood, came to the table and seated Priscilla first on the pillow she had dragged over and then seated herself as if she had been asked.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
He could hear murmurings from the kitchen as he perused the breakfast listings. The usual fare, eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, hash browns, in any combinations, juice, coffee, and in the fine print, "hot water for tea available". Closing the menu, he swiveled in his seat and noticed for the first time the newspaper in the corner. It was moving slightly as though the patron had been looking at this stranger. Looking further around the room, it occurred to him that there was something nondescript about the place. Nothing really to date it. No old calenders, no shiny new equipment, but neither was there a neglected look. On the contrary. It was a clean space, down to the black and white tiled floor. Although the white tiles were faded in to a brownish tint, the floor was immaculate.
As Amy came back through the door with the coffee pot still in her hand, "Are you ready to order? The bread just came out of the oven, It's nice and warm, and we have fresh apple butter. Mrs. Grimsley brought in a batch yesterday. She's still getting some apples off her tree." She smiled, put the pot down after noticing that the customer hadn't touched the cup. "Oh, is there something wrong with the coffee? Too strong? Too weak? People are funny about their morning joe you know.". She was pleasant enough.
" No, actually, I don't drink coffee." He managed to get in before she went on with some other detail about the coffee.
"Oh, I am so sorry. Tea?"
"No thanks, a nice tall glass of orange juice would be nice." He smiled at her as she wrote it down on her pad.
"How about that breakfast?"
"I 'll jut have the blue light special, eggs, scrambled, bacon, no ham, a some of that fresh bread, don't bother to toast it." He was just an ordinary guy ordering an ordinary breakfast.
After writing on the pad, Amy turned her head and instead of disappearing behind the doors, called into the back "blue plate 2 mashed and raw". Then turning back to the stranger seemed to settle in for a conversation. "You must be new here, passing through?"
The customer looked at her, not annoyed at all for the intrusion into himself. "Actually, I'm here for an interview with the newspaper, 'The Journal'. My name is Timothy." He didn't offer a last name, but offered his hand by way of introduction.
Amy took the hand, shook it slightly and then tinkled, "Oh, you must be the boy here to replace old Sam. He's got arthritis so bad he can't write anymore and he refuses to use any contraption other then a pencil." Timothy thought this rather odd, and asked, "Why doesn't he get someone to write or dictate for him?"
"Oh no, not old Sam. Besides, he's eighty two and said he needs to retire so he can see the world. I think he's going into the city for a weekend." She laughed easily again. "It's nice to meet you Timothy, Can I call you Tim? Thanks. I'll just go fill Henry's cup and be back with that orange juice." She slipped around the counter and went to refill Henry's coffee cup. He still hadn't seen the man's face, but knew it was old because of those gnarly hands.
When the breakfast arrived Timothy tucked in leaning on the counter with his elbows and taking a long swig of the fresh juice. After eating, he reached in his pocket and took a out a pad and pencil of his own. He thought he might get a head start and ask Amy about the town he was now considering as his new home.
Had she lived here all her life? Family? School? What did she know about the history of the place.
"Well, this diner, or this town?" She bypassed the personal questions.
"Sure, the diner." He wrote the word on the top of his pad. "What's it called? I didn't see a sign other then the one hanging outside that says "Diner".
"Yep, It is Diner. That's it. I don't think it ever had a different name." Amy pushed her eyebrows as if in deep thought. "No, I don't think it ever did have a real name."
A shuffle of paper sounded from the corner and as Timothy turned in his seat, a pair of watery blue eyes peered over the top of the pages. "Cafe'. He grunted and the paper went back up.
"Cafe? Cafe What?"
Again, the paper came down. "Cafe" from behind the paper, "Just that, Cafe. "
Timothy thought a moment and offered, "Well, when did it go from Cafe to Diner?"
"Always been."
Amy chimed in now, "Oh, that's right. Some people do call it the Cafe Diner, Or The Diner Cafe" She pushed her eyebrows together. " That's funny. I never really thought about it before." With a 'hm', she turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
A moment later she returned with an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties. He wore an old white apron hiding a pot belly. Gray hair, unkempt, flour on his hands and towel tucked into the apron led Timothy to believe this was the cook.
"This is George. He owns the place. Ask him about the diner." Amy backed away.
George stepped forward and offered his dusty hand, "George Andrews."
"Nice to meet you George. I'm Timothy. I here interviewing for the newspaper job." Taking George's firm grip he returned with a firm grip of his own. "I was just trying to find out a bit about this town."
Clearing his throat, seeming a friendly sort, George spoke, " Well now, I've been here all my life. I own this diner, or cafe if you must know." He smiled revealing an overly large whitish smile.
Timothy returned the smile and asked if it would be alright if he took some notes. George nodded and asked what it was he wanted to know.
"Well, for one thing, how come it's just called diner?"
"Well now, we never did come up with a proper name. My wife, God rest her soul, wanted it to be a cafe, you know, one of those fancy coffee places that serves tea and sandwiches and fancy soups. Me, I just wanted a good old fashion diner, you know, burgers, ice cream sundaes and such. So when Mildred, God rest her soul was working in between the kids, she called it cafe, and served coffee in tea cups and made them little cucumber sandwiches. But I still made meatloaf and mashed potatoes. So, depending on who you asked it was either Diner. Or Cafe. Simple as that."
Timothy smiled. Amy piped in,"Hey George, I never knew that. But come to think of it, when Mildred was here, she did always use that fancy teacup." She pointed to the back counter where a lone, bone china teacup and saucer sat on what appeared to be a fancy doily. The rest of the counter, as Timothy looked at it now, was a jumble of coffee pot, sugar bottles, extra salt and pepper bottles, and a miscellaneous assortment of dishes and glasses.
The door jingled again and an elderly woman in a suit of moss green entered the diner. She wore a hat from days gone by that sat on the top of her head, with netting covering her eyes. In one hand she held a tiny dog with a ribbon on top of her head. In the other, a green purse and a bag which she deposited on the counter next to Timothy as she swooped in.
"Morning Edith." George gave a wave of his hand. "That more apple butter? I only have a half bottle left. It's the best."
Edith pinched her lips together, "Yes of course it is. I promised more this morning, and here it is. Now would you be so kind as to have a hamburger broiled and cut up for Priscilla?"
Priscilla, obviously was the the tiny dog in her arm.
"As usual." George gave a little wave and returned to the kitchen.
These people must all know one another very well Timothy thought, by the way they interacted. That was nice. He hadn't been close with his neighbors in the city. Too many people, too busy. He liked it here already. It was quiet. There was no music here, but there seemed in the short time he had been here, to be a rhythm to the place. The smell of the early morning combined with the easy quiet talk. He thought he could get used to this. This feeling of timelessness. Little did he know how timeless it was.
Chapter 2
As Amy came back through the door with the coffee pot still in her hand, "Are you ready to order? The bread just came out of the oven, It's nice and warm, and we have fresh apple butter. Mrs. Grimsley brought in a batch yesterday. She's still getting some apples off her tree." She smiled, put the pot down after noticing that the customer hadn't touched the cup. "Oh, is there something wrong with the coffee? Too strong? Too weak? People are funny about their morning joe you know.". She was pleasant enough.
" No, actually, I don't drink coffee." He managed to get in before she went on with some other detail about the coffee.
"Oh, I am so sorry. Tea?"
"No thanks, a nice tall glass of orange juice would be nice." He smiled at her as she wrote it down on her pad.
"How about that breakfast?"
"I 'll jut have the blue light special, eggs, scrambled, bacon, no ham, a some of that fresh bread, don't bother to toast it." He was just an ordinary guy ordering an ordinary breakfast.
After writing on the pad, Amy turned her head and instead of disappearing behind the doors, called into the back "blue plate 2 mashed and raw". Then turning back to the stranger seemed to settle in for a conversation. "You must be new here, passing through?"
The customer looked at her, not annoyed at all for the intrusion into himself. "Actually, I'm here for an interview with the newspaper, 'The Journal'. My name is Timothy." He didn't offer a last name, but offered his hand by way of introduction.
Amy took the hand, shook it slightly and then tinkled, "Oh, you must be the boy here to replace old Sam. He's got arthritis so bad he can't write anymore and he refuses to use any contraption other then a pencil." Timothy thought this rather odd, and asked, "Why doesn't he get someone to write or dictate for him?"
"Oh no, not old Sam. Besides, he's eighty two and said he needs to retire so he can see the world. I think he's going into the city for a weekend." She laughed easily again. "It's nice to meet you Timothy, Can I call you Tim? Thanks. I'll just go fill Henry's cup and be back with that orange juice." She slipped around the counter and went to refill Henry's coffee cup. He still hadn't seen the man's face, but knew it was old because of those gnarly hands.
When the breakfast arrived Timothy tucked in leaning on the counter with his elbows and taking a long swig of the fresh juice. After eating, he reached in his pocket and took a out a pad and pencil of his own. He thought he might get a head start and ask Amy about the town he was now considering as his new home.
Had she lived here all her life? Family? School? What did she know about the history of the place.
"Well, this diner, or this town?" She bypassed the personal questions.
"Sure, the diner." He wrote the word on the top of his pad. "What's it called? I didn't see a sign other then the one hanging outside that says "Diner".
"Yep, It is Diner. That's it. I don't think it ever had a different name." Amy pushed her eyebrows as if in deep thought. "No, I don't think it ever did have a real name."
A shuffle of paper sounded from the corner and as Timothy turned in his seat, a pair of watery blue eyes peered over the top of the pages. "Cafe'. He grunted and the paper went back up.
"Cafe? Cafe What?"
Again, the paper came down. "Cafe" from behind the paper, "Just that, Cafe. "
Timothy thought a moment and offered, "Well, when did it go from Cafe to Diner?"
"Always been."
Amy chimed in now, "Oh, that's right. Some people do call it the Cafe Diner, Or The Diner Cafe" She pushed her eyebrows together. " That's funny. I never really thought about it before." With a 'hm', she turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
A moment later she returned with an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties. He wore an old white apron hiding a pot belly. Gray hair, unkempt, flour on his hands and towel tucked into the apron led Timothy to believe this was the cook.
"This is George. He owns the place. Ask him about the diner." Amy backed away.
George stepped forward and offered his dusty hand, "George Andrews."
"Nice to meet you George. I'm Timothy. I here interviewing for the newspaper job." Taking George's firm grip he returned with a firm grip of his own. "I was just trying to find out a bit about this town."
Clearing his throat, seeming a friendly sort, George spoke, " Well now, I've been here all my life. I own this diner, or cafe if you must know." He smiled revealing an overly large whitish smile.
Timothy returned the smile and asked if it would be alright if he took some notes. George nodded and asked what it was he wanted to know.
"Well, for one thing, how come it's just called diner?"
"Well now, we never did come up with a proper name. My wife, God rest her soul, wanted it to be a cafe, you know, one of those fancy coffee places that serves tea and sandwiches and fancy soups. Me, I just wanted a good old fashion diner, you know, burgers, ice cream sundaes and such. So when Mildred, God rest her soul was working in between the kids, she called it cafe, and served coffee in tea cups and made them little cucumber sandwiches. But I still made meatloaf and mashed potatoes. So, depending on who you asked it was either Diner. Or Cafe. Simple as that."
Timothy smiled. Amy piped in,"Hey George, I never knew that. But come to think of it, when Mildred was here, she did always use that fancy teacup." She pointed to the back counter where a lone, bone china teacup and saucer sat on what appeared to be a fancy doily. The rest of the counter, as Timothy looked at it now, was a jumble of coffee pot, sugar bottles, extra salt and pepper bottles, and a miscellaneous assortment of dishes and glasses.
The door jingled again and an elderly woman in a suit of moss green entered the diner. She wore a hat from days gone by that sat on the top of her head, with netting covering her eyes. In one hand she held a tiny dog with a ribbon on top of her head. In the other, a green purse and a bag which she deposited on the counter next to Timothy as she swooped in.
"Morning Edith." George gave a wave of his hand. "That more apple butter? I only have a half bottle left. It's the best."
Edith pinched her lips together, "Yes of course it is. I promised more this morning, and here it is. Now would you be so kind as to have a hamburger broiled and cut up for Priscilla?"
Priscilla, obviously was the the tiny dog in her arm.
"As usual." George gave a little wave and returned to the kitchen.
These people must all know one another very well Timothy thought, by the way they interacted. That was nice. He hadn't been close with his neighbors in the city. Too many people, too busy. He liked it here already. It was quiet. There was no music here, but there seemed in the short time he had been here, to be a rhythm to the place. The smell of the early morning combined with the easy quiet talk. He thought he could get used to this. This feeling of timelessness. Little did he know how timeless it was.
Chapter 2
Saturday, October 25, 2014
On any normal autumn day,one could be seen strolling the streets downtown, stopping here and there for flowers, pumpkins and the usual fall decorations that accompany the season. It was several weeks before Halloween, so among the windows of the retail stores of an age gone by were the usual white sheet ghosts and corn stalks. But this wasn't a day gone by. It was today. And one particular shop, still steeped in decor from yesteryear, was the local diner.
It sits one corner, by a 4 way stop sign. On the kiddie corner stands the old brick Court house. directly across the street sits a five and dime, seemingly unchanged from the days of Five and Tens. On the other side, the empty lot where the kids still gathered for a pick up game of baseball, or as the weather now dictated, football. What had stood there before the lot had been cleared was an old pickle factory. It had gone the way of many factories, but not in the usual financial way. The owner had passed on over 30 years ago and had stipulated in his will that the factory was to close and the spot left clear for future generations of children to play. No one had questioned, no one had tried to buy the lot. It was for the kids.
So, the diner had the perfect view of the town's going's on. And on this early morning the smell of fresh baking bread wafted from the kitchen. The broad window that overlooked the tree corners there was seated an elderly gentleman. He was here every morning. A fixture really. He kept to himself and his newspaper, his yellowed white hair hanging over his eyebrow, his gnarly hand occassionally reaching around the newpaper for the black coffee which was refilled by the waitress who walked back and forth through the kitchen door. The old door, in the old diner, was silver with two convienent round windows to peer into or out of. There was no one else here yet. It was the beginning of a new morning in the little town, in this sidewalk dinner, and in this very year.
A customer opened the door and jingled the bells, ancient, hanging over the door. He was a youngish looking man, in his mid thirties, dark haired, average height, but with the most outstanding blue eyes. He looked around the place as though not familiar with it. There was the counter with 5 or 6 swivel stools, worn red and white seats. The tables all boosted laminate gray tops with salt and pepper, sugar and ketchup bottles clumped in the middle. The silverware rolled in paper napkins. He looked toward the kitchen doors on this side of the building, another set of doors with windows. Coming through it now with the coffee pot was Amy, the waitress. She had a saucer and cup in that brown paper bag color of yesteryear. She smiled a crooked tooth smile at the customer and pointed with the pot, table or counter. He chose the first spot at the counter which sat next to an ancient cash register, rusted gold with a $ sign in Old English text in the top window.
Still not speaking, the waitress poured a cup of coffee before the he could offer any alternative. He was enamored with this place out of time. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, maybe a college age student, he thought. Dirty blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She wore a white apron with pink trimming and as she took out the pad and pencil to take his order before even allowing him to see the worn out menu standing between a bottle of ketcup and syrup.
Smiling that crooked toothed smile, she was a pretty girl with hazel eyes, but nothing outstanding about her. She stood there without a word, pencil in hand.
"Could I have a moment please?" He cleared his throat. He had very white teeth. The old blacket jacket he wore almost looked out of place, too new.
"Oh sure, sorry honey . I'm just used to the people who usually come in. You're a stranger here aren't you?"
"Just passing through." He smiled as she reached over and handed him the plastc cover menu stained from constant use.
" You want creamer for that coffee?" She pointed to the cup with her pencil.
"Well, no actually..."
Before he could say he didn't really drink coffee, she turned on her sneakered foot and disappeared behind the two round windows.
It sits one corner, by a 4 way stop sign. On the kiddie corner stands the old brick Court house. directly across the street sits a five and dime, seemingly unchanged from the days of Five and Tens. On the other side, the empty lot where the kids still gathered for a pick up game of baseball, or as the weather now dictated, football. What had stood there before the lot had been cleared was an old pickle factory. It had gone the way of many factories, but not in the usual financial way. The owner had passed on over 30 years ago and had stipulated in his will that the factory was to close and the spot left clear for future generations of children to play. No one had questioned, no one had tried to buy the lot. It was for the kids.
So, the diner had the perfect view of the town's going's on. And on this early morning the smell of fresh baking bread wafted from the kitchen. The broad window that overlooked the tree corners there was seated an elderly gentleman. He was here every morning. A fixture really. He kept to himself and his newspaper, his yellowed white hair hanging over his eyebrow, his gnarly hand occassionally reaching around the newpaper for the black coffee which was refilled by the waitress who walked back and forth through the kitchen door. The old door, in the old diner, was silver with two convienent round windows to peer into or out of. There was no one else here yet. It was the beginning of a new morning in the little town, in this sidewalk dinner, and in this very year.
A customer opened the door and jingled the bells, ancient, hanging over the door. He was a youngish looking man, in his mid thirties, dark haired, average height, but with the most outstanding blue eyes. He looked around the place as though not familiar with it. There was the counter with 5 or 6 swivel stools, worn red and white seats. The tables all boosted laminate gray tops with salt and pepper, sugar and ketchup bottles clumped in the middle. The silverware rolled in paper napkins. He looked toward the kitchen doors on this side of the building, another set of doors with windows. Coming through it now with the coffee pot was Amy, the waitress. She had a saucer and cup in that brown paper bag color of yesteryear. She smiled a crooked tooth smile at the customer and pointed with the pot, table or counter. He chose the first spot at the counter which sat next to an ancient cash register, rusted gold with a $ sign in Old English text in the top window.
Still not speaking, the waitress poured a cup of coffee before the he could offer any alternative. He was enamored with this place out of time. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, maybe a college age student, he thought. Dirty blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She wore a white apron with pink trimming and as she took out the pad and pencil to take his order before even allowing him to see the worn out menu standing between a bottle of ketcup and syrup.
Smiling that crooked toothed smile, she was a pretty girl with hazel eyes, but nothing outstanding about her. She stood there without a word, pencil in hand.
"Could I have a moment please?" He cleared his throat. He had very white teeth. The old blacket jacket he wore almost looked out of place, too new.
"Oh sure, sorry honey . I'm just used to the people who usually come in. You're a stranger here aren't you?"
"Just passing through." He smiled as she reached over and handed him the plastc cover menu stained from constant use.
" You want creamer for that coffee?" She pointed to the cup with her pencil.
"Well, no actually..."
Before he could say he didn't really drink coffee, she turned on her sneakered foot and disappeared behind the two round windows.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)