The building where I work might be 500 feet from Main Street. You have Main Street, a side walk, three steps down from the side walk into our parking lot. All day long I get to hear traffic noise, sirens, and the occasional domestic violence situation.
Today, I hear noise. Like always. I’m listening to an audiobook while I work, giving the world outside little attention.
Suddenly, it’s very dark. I look out the window to see why. Rain, again. There is a car on Main Street. A cop standing behind it. And the car is missing its passenger side wheel. Not just the rubber tire. The entire wheel. Moving from the window to the door for a better look, there is a tow truck in front of the car. There doesn’t seem to be another car. No other cops. Back to my stack of paperwork.
A coworker walks by my workstation, “did something just hit my vehicle?”
I have no idea. I’ve been working. “I don’t know.”
But yes, that run away tire broke a chunk out of her fender, cracking it.
The man that owns the car comes in the office. They exchange phone numbers. He proceeds to tell us that he knew his tire was loose. Someone removed some and loosened the rest of his lug nuts. He knew this. But had a doctors appointment. They were driving really slow. It seemed to blow his mind that the wheel came off.
Next Saturday morning a low rumbling noise startled Rebecca. She jumped out of bed. “What the?” She struggled to bring the clock into focus. “6:00 am,” she hissed, running toward the door, sliding to a stop on the porch. “Oh my heavenly father.”
Simon handed her a robe as he was putting one on. The road was lined with vehicles. In the lead was Mr. Rice pullin’ a bush hog, followed by a dump truck and what looked like half the town.
“Bradley said with the chickens.” Simon chuckled. The light of day was just starting to push away the night.
By the time they had their first cup of coffee and were dressed, Mr. Rice had bush hogged around the house. The dump truck was in place off the front porch, two port-a-potties were standing next to the house and people were busy doing jobs.
“They need to change that saying from a New York minute to a Kentucky minute.” Simon snorted.
The inside of the house echoed with the pounding of hammers.
“Hello child,” Widow Blake came toward Rebecca with open arms. “I’m so glad ya finally joined us.” Widow Blake was the cutest little woman Rebecca had ever seen. And she told her about it ever chance she got. It always made the elderly lady blush. Her baggy coveralls flapping against her tiny body just added to her cuteness.
“What ja want me to do?” Rebecca asked.
“Right now we’re strippin’ the 60 some years worth of wallpaper.” She laughed. “Have ya ever been in this house?”
“No ma’am.”
“Then let me show ya. This little room here is the livin’ room.” The room was indeed small. However the fireplace against the far wall was so charming.
“A fireplace?” Rebecca asked.
“Did you see a chimney?” Patty giggled from behind her. Her arms filled with old wallpaper.
“Come to think of it, no.” Rebecca replied.
“It’s fake.” Widow Blake laughed.
There were two more doors leading out of the living room; one in the back of the room was to a…? “What’s this suppose to be?” Rebecca walked into the room.
“The kitchen,” Widow Blake reported.
Patty came back into the living room dusting herself off. Patty Coots was a magnificent woman. Rebecca wondered why she hadn’t been a model or had a career in show business? She definitely had the body for it. “Gabby, are you gonna be all day?” She grinned.
“I’m givin’ Becky the grand tour. She’s never been in here. And why didn’t you shake yourself off outside? You’re just creatin’ more work for us later.”
Patty laughed, “grand tour.” Completely ignoring the dusting off comment.
Patty had married Deputy Bradley. Rebecca often wondered what power a man like Barney Fife had to attract a woman like Patty?
They walked out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the tiny hall. Three doors led off the hall. All three rooms had women in them busily stripping wallpaper. Two of the rooms were bedrooms and Rebecca could only guess the other was a bathroom. This room and the kitchen just had naked plumbing in them.
“Widow Blake?” A male voice called.
“In here.” She chimed.
Danny Simms stepped into view from the living room. “Mr. Rice wants the carpet ripped up to.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I prayed he would. There is the most wonderful hardwood flooring under there.” She turned her attention to Rebecca. “You can start there.” She pointed toward the bathroom.
“Sure thing.” Sarah had just finished removing the last of the wallpaper. The bathroom was a tiny little room. It may have been 5 feet by 5 feet. Rebecca busied herself with the carpet. Widow Blake was right; the hardwood floor under the carpet was breath taking. With a little wax, the wood would shine like new money.
Rebecca and Simon had made themselves comfortable on the porch finishing their morning coffee. That look on the sweet old man’s face was seared into her brain. What could he be doing over there in the tall grass? She wondered.
The hot Kentucky sun was lapping at the tops of the trees like the ocean teasing the beach. It was going to be another gorgeous day.
They noticed a patrol car cruisin’ down the road and into their driveway. Deputy Bradley reminded Rebecca of Barney Fife. He was a skinny man that a good strong wind would blow away. He clamored out of the car as he put on his cowboy hat. A cowboy riding an iron horse. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as he tugged at his pants and squared his shoulders, before swaggering, yes swaggering toward them. Barney Fife indeed. Bradley thought he was ten feet tall and bullet proof. Every time there was trouble in town he would say, “now I’m the law round here, let’s go or git.” Which seemed to be his favorite word. “Git.” And he always said it with a growl.
Rebecca had almost worked herself into a laugh before he reached the porch.
“Mornin’ folks.”
“Deputy,” Simon grinned, “coffee?” He raised his cup to Bradley.
“Na,” he rested one foot on the bottom step. “I just wanted to see if you two were home.”
“Yelp. We found everything in its place.” Rebecca smiled. “Thanks for keepin’ an eye on the place for us.”
“Good, good.” He paused clearing his throat, “my pleasure. Are you still havin’ Bible study at the end of the month?”
“Sure are,” Simon boomed. “Make sure to tell everyone so they’ll come.”
“Sure will,” he smiled before turning to leave. The Rice house caught his attention. That blessed old man. Bradley took off his hat before turning back around. “Mr. Rice has asked some of us if we’d help him fix his house.”
“Yeah, he’s been here this mornin’.” Rebecca smiled.
Bradley turned his hat in his hands. Rebecca thought that at any moment he was gonna start crying. There was more going on here than met the eye and he knew at least part of the story.
“Some of us thought we’d make a weekend out of it. Well from the looks of things, it might take us a week. Our wives said they’d do the inside while we work on the outside. Della said she’d supply the food.”
“Oh, just like an old timey barn raisin’ party.” Rebecca wiggled excitedly in her seat.
“Sure,” Bradley smiled. “As far as we know all the inside needs is painted and the like.”
“What fun?” Rebecca continued to wiggle.
It made Bradley kinda sick. She was happy and excited about this. Before he flew off the handle, which he was prone to do, he had to remind himself that only a few people in town knew the truth. And if he spilled the beans, not only would he loose his job but he ran the risk of loosing his best friend. So he finally choked, “good, good.” He returned his hat to his head. “See y’all Saturday with the chickens.”
The old man fell to his knees, his hat in his hands. Tears streamed down his haggard face. How could you live with someone 60 years and just forget about that person? The pain was fading. It may have been a function of him getting older. He was having the hardest time remembering what she looked like and it was killing him. Here was the love of his life and he couldn’t remember if her eyes were blue or gray.
You wouldn’t have known looking from the road that here in the back of the field was a clean well-maintained grave. A grave he had showered with as much love as an aging husband could give.
“I’m bringin’ her home Lily.” He sobbed, “I’m bringin’ her home.”
Rebecca and Simon locked glances with each other. Why in the world would someone his age want to move from town? They looked across the road at the old house. Time had taken its toll on the structure. All the paint had peeled off. Simon wouldn’t have been surprised if the roof didn’t leak. Rebecca knew something big was happening. Mr. Rice was a very independent private man. He never asked anyone for help. The wind swept across the valley. A blade of grass distracted her. It was then she finally noticed the grass came to the top of the window frames. She always thought it (the house) looked so lonely. She had a soft spot for empty buildings. The thought always crossed her mind, what if they could talk? What stories they could tell? Who had lived there? What part did it play in the history of the community? Poor empty little house.
Mr. Rice’s voice brought them back to the situation at hand. “I’ll pay you good for your time and buy all the stuff.”
“I’d be happy to help you sir.” Simon smiled. He would have done what needed to be done in order to help the old timer. It was Mr. Rice who told him that Rebecca needed help around her house in the first place. If it hadn’t been for his influence, Simon felt he never would have met the RIGHT woman. And met her he had.
“Thank you,” the old man put his hat back on and scuttled toward his truck.
Simon called after him, “sir would you like some coffee?”
The old man shook his head no before climbing back into his truck. “This Saturday, we are going to try to get it done.”
They watched as he backed out of their driveway, drove down the road apiece, and then pulled into his driveway. All they could see was the top of his truck in the tall grass.
“Did you see the look in his eyes?” Rebecca whispered.
“How could you miss it?”
“I wonder what that was about?” She shivered as they walked back up the steps. “You know those women that I have lunch with at Della’s, have never mentioned anything about this. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Mr. Rice seems to be a very private person and is respected for that. Maybe they don’t know.”
“Maybe, but it’s so hard for Widow Blake to keep a secret.”
“This may not concern us. Most of the stuff I hear you repeat is stuff that is of a concern to the community.” He offered.
They sat in their respective chairs. She snickered, “come on honey. How was our relationship a concern to the community?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “How was it not? You had lived here for years and had made friends in the community, Mr. Rice being one of them. I was a complete stranger from the opposite side of the US.”
“Point taken,” she sipped at her coffee.
“I’m sure we’ll find out in due time what all this hub-bub is about.”
Poetry & More 