Mae-Jo slid the bread into its own small brown bag, Miss Sunbeam sunny-side up. “Your Uncle Bob will be here shortly, I hope. He and Mr. Valentine were working on something or another for Melba Dawson this afternoon and it’s either taking longer than they expected or she’s fed them supper.”
I leaned my forearms on the counter and laced my fingers. “Is Mr. Valentine still doing his work? I would have thought he’d have retired by now.”
Mae-Jo closed the ledger and slipped it back under the counter. “Valentine Bach will work till his fingers fall off or the good Lord calls him home. I don’t know what he’s got your Uncle Bob a-doing, but whatever it is, I’m past ready for the man to come here and help me close up shop.”
I straightened. “Is there something I can do?”
“Nary a thing.” She walked over to a candy jar and opened it. “How about some licorice to spoil your dinner?”
I joined her, pulled a Red Vine twist from the jar, and bit into it. It was cherry. “This takes me back,” I said. Mae-Jo resumed her “end of the day” labors as I worked my way down my candy. “Aunt Mae-Jo?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me, who are some of the people here you think won’t want to leave?”
Mae-Jo stopped and leaned a hip against the backside of the counter. “Well, let’s see. Melba Dawson, for one. She’s still living in the house she and Walter built, even though he’s been gone now for—what?—nearly a decade, I reckon. But she’ll never leave. They raised their children in that house, and Walter practically built it with his own hands for her before they married. His hands and Valentine’s, of course. Not too many of the newer homes around here Valentine Bach or his daddy didn’t build or lay their hammer to. And when I say ‘newer’ you know, of course, I mean built within the last sixty to seventy years.”
“So, Mrs. Dawson wouldn’t move,” I said, gently tugging Aunt Mae-Jo back from her rabbit trail.
“Nor her sister, Irene Patterson. She and Marvin are set like old stones around here. Of course, Bob and I aren’t going anywhere, and Valentine Bach will most likely never leave. Especially not with Bettina here and her son and his wife, Fiona. They seem perfectly content here. Of course, you know they have three kids, two are twin girls. Prettiest things you ever did see.”
“How old are they? The twins?” I reached into the candy jar and pulled out another twist of licorice. “You can add this to my tab,” I said, wiggling it toward her.
“Don’t worry ’bout that none.” She shook her head. “Fifteen or sixteen, I’d say. No, they’d have to be sixteen. I’ve seen them driving their mama’s car up here a few times to pick up groceries Fiona calls ahead for.”
“Who else?”
“Well, let’s see. Clyde and Larisa Walker. Now, here’s a story.” She rolled her eyes. “Clyde Walker at least sixty if not sixty-five years old, give or take a year, and he goes on the Internet and finds himself one of those Russian mail-order brides. Everyone in town thought the man had lost his mind and near ’bout expected him to bring home some twenty-one-year-old who’d sink an axe in the middle of his skull one night while he lay sleeping, then take off with his money. Not that Clyde has any. He’s got enough, mind you. And he’s as tight as Harry’s hatband. Nearly nickel and dimes me to death over here, and that man wouldn’t put a red cent into that house he’s a-livin’ in. It belonged to his mama and daddy and pretty much looks just like it did when Old Lady Walker came to it as a bride.”
“What about when the Russian bride came to it?”
“Oh yeah. Bob said to him, ‘Clyde, why don’t you find some nice girl from around here?’ but Clyde was quick to point out there wasn’t anyone from around here who was single other than Melba Dawson, and they’re first cousins.”
I burst out laughing. Mae-Jo smiled at her own humor.
“Did she turn out to be okay? This mail-order bride?”
“Nicest thing. She’s nearly fifty if she’s a day and treats Clyde like he’s some Prince Charming, God help us all. Larisa Walker makes the rest of us look like slovenly women, but I like her anyway. Doesn’t know much English still, but she tries.”
“The South has its own English,” I reminded her. “So she’s at a bit of a disadvantage.”
Mae-Jo opened the cash register and began pulling out bills. “Go lock the door for me, will you? If your Uncle Bob isn’t going to come here to help me with this, then I may as well have you stand guard. Not that you’d be any use against someone who really wanted to break in, but at least there’s strength in numbers.”
I walked over to the front door and bolted it. “I don’t know, Aunt Mae-Jo. I seem to remember you’re pretty good with a shotgun.”
“Who isn’t around these parts?”
I turned to face her, then leaned against the door. “That reminds me. Several nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night and saw two men traipsing through Aunt Stella’s property. One of them appeared to have some sort of metal box tucked under his arm.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“Not at that ungodly hour, no. I could only see them from the back, and I was up in my bedroom so there was the distance. I can’t imagine anyone from around here sneaking around at that time of night, though, can you?”
“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be awake when they could be sleeping.” She placed a stack of bills on the counter and began pulling change from one of the coin cubbies in the register. “What time did you say it was?”
“I didn’t.” I returned to the counter. “But probably around three or four. I don’t remember now exactly.”
“Did you mention it to Stella?” Mae-Jo dropped the pennies and reached for the nickels.
“Can I help you with that?”
“No. I’ve got it.” She began counting the silver coins, and I waited until she was done. “Two-seventy-five,” she said, jotting numbers onto a nearby pad of paper. “Plus the fifty-seven cents in pennies.”
“Three-thirty-two. No, I didn’t mention it to Aunt Stella. No need in getting her upset.” My stomach growled so loudly it echoed in the quiet of the store.
“Well, good thing. The Lord knows when that woman gets riled up she’s a mess to deal with.” Mae-Jo chuckled again, scooped up the dimes, and dropped them onto the counter. “She wasn’t always like that though.”
“What do you mean?”
Mae-Jo waved at me. “I’ll tell you all about that another time. Go on home and make yourself your peanut butter and jelly now, you hear. Bob will be here shortly and if he’s not, he’s going to find himself sleeping with the dogs. Go out the back door. It locks behind itself.”
“Are you sure?” I reached for my purchases.
“I’m sure. Go on.”
I was halfway out of the store when I heard Mae-Jo call to me, “And don’t worry about those two men. Probably Terry Godwin and one of his friends from over to Raymore he’s always running around with. Young’uns these days don’t know when to go to bed and when to stay up, I always say.”
“I’ll see you later, Aunt Mae-Jo.”
“Come on back anytime,” she hollered. “It’s good to have you so close for a while.”
I opened the back door. The outside light came on automatically. The wooden steps leading to the ground were rickety. I took each step carefully, then hurried across the way to the big house. As I reached the front door and pulled open the screen, I spun around, thinking I heard something behind me.
My breath caught in my throat. “Who’s there?”
Silence. I looked across the porch, down the steps and the lawn and to the road where, on the other side, twig-like branches from small dogwoods cut dark shadows into the large oaks past them.
I jerked at the sound of shuffling feet. “Uncle Bob?”
No answer.
“Terry Godwin, is that you?”
I stood steady, holding my breath in wait for an answer, but none came.
When all sound by the wind stopped, I turned back to face the door of my new home, allowed the screen to rest against my right shoulder, then turned the jangly doorknob and went inside.