Catch as Cat Can (5 page)

“Come on. It will wake up Fair. He has no competition.”

Harry uncrossed her arms. “That's a fact.” Her eyebrows twitched together a moment. “All right, BoomBoom. I'll do it. I don't exactly know why I'm doing it but I'm doing it.”

“Thank you.”

“Spring fever,”
Pewter laconically said, a small burp following.

“Excuse yourself, pig.”
Mrs. Murphy reached out and touched Pewter on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. Spring fever.”

“Pewter, what are you talking about?”
Tucker wanted an answer. She hated it when the cats got “airy,” as she called it.

“Spring fever. That's why Harry is going out with this new guy.”

“You might be right,”
Mrs. Murphy agreed.
“This will get Lottie Pearson's knickers in a twist. She's on the man hunt and BoomBoom ignored her in favor of Mom. She'll have her revenge. Just wait.”

“
On whom? Mom or BoomBoom?”
Tucker lifted her head.

“Both, if I know Lottie. Her social ambitions seethe. Being escorted by a handsome man working on Washington's Embassy Row is her idea of perfect. She'd get to meet more important people and she'd look important. She cultivates people, I guess that's how you put it, before she asks them for hundreds of thousands of dollars for the university. She'd like to run this town someday, too. Never happen. Big Mim will live to be one hundred and fifty. Look how old Aunt Tally is. They never die, I swear. But you mark my words, Lottie Pearson is smart and devious. She'll get her revenge.”

“It's so petty!”
Pewter exclaimed.

“Precisely but that's the way people are. They're further and further removed from nature, and they get weird, major weird.”
Mrs. Murphy watched as Harry walked BoomBoom to the back door in the kitchen.

“Spring fever.”
Pewter marched back into the kitchen for more crunchies.

6

The work week rolled along without incident. Harry and Miranda sorted mail, light this time of year. Big Mim made pronouncements about how to improve the Dogwood Festival before Saturday's parade. Everyone smiled, said, “You're right,” and went about their business.

Fair, Harry's ex-husband, was just wrapping up foaling and breeding season. Upon hearing that Harry would be accompanying Diego Aybar to the tea party and then the dance, he fumed; but Fair had committed the mistake of thinking he didn't need to ask Harry. He assumed she would be his date if he could shake free of work. Usually a low-key and reasonable man, he slammed the door to her kitchen, upsetting the cats and secretly delighting Harry.

Miranda glowed for her high-school beau, who would be returning from Hawaii, where he had finally settled his estate, would be her escort for all festivities. She was to pick him up at the airport Friday morning and she figured he'd bounce back from his travails and travel by Saturday, the big day. Tracy Raz, former star athlete of Crozet High, class of 1950, was a tough guy and an interesting one, too.

Reverend Herbert C. Jones, pastor of the Lutheran church and parade marshal this year, was the most jovial anyone had ever seen him, which was saying something as the good pastor was normally an upbeat fellow.

Little Mim, as vice-mayor of Crozet, used this opportunity to insist more trash barrels be placed on the parade route. She endeared herself to the merchants in town by having flags made up at her own expense for them to hang over their doorways. The flags, “Crozet” emblazoned across a French-blue background, also had a railroad track embroidered on the bottom right-hand side. As Crozet was named for Claudius Crozet, former engineering officer with Napoleon's army, she hoped out-of-towners would ask about the tracks. Crozet, after capture in Russia, again rejoined the emperor for Waterloo, managing to escape the Royalists and sail to America. He cut four tunnels into the Blue Ridge Mountains, an engineering feat considered one of the wonders of the nineteenth century. His work—sans dynamite, using only picks, shovels, and axes—stands to this day, as do the roads he built from the Tidewater into the Shenandoah Valley.

The town itself never became a glamorous depot but remained a quiet stop before one plunged into the mountains themselves. Most residents worked hard for a living, but a few enjoyed inherited wealth, Little Mim being one, which is why she paid for the flags herself. She thought if merchants hung the flags out it would create further color for the day, showing pride in the community. Not that residents of the small, unpretentious town lacked pride but rather, in that quiet Virginia way, they didn't speak of it. The surrounding countryside, dotted with apple orchards, drew tourists from all over the world, as did Albemarle County itself, laboring under the ghosts of Jefferson and Monroe, to say nothing of all the movie stars, sports stars, and literary lights who had moved there, enticed by the natural beauty of the place and the University of Virginia. As it was only an hour by air from New York City, some of the richest residents commuted daily in their private jets.

Crozetians, although part of Albemarle County, more or less ignored Charlottesville, the county seat.

Little Mim, a Republican, and her father, a Democrat, now ran the town together. He was grooming her as well as pressuring her to jump parties. So far, she had resisted.

The merchants adored her, not just because of the flags. Like her father, she had a natural flair for politics.

Lottie Pearson assisted Little Mim. Both women were five feet six inches, slender, and well-groomed. Since both favored bright spring sweaters, khaki slacks, and flats, the only way you could tell them apart from the back was that Lottie's hair was honey brown while Little Mim's was ash blond this week. Lottie was much in evidence throughout the week as she climbed on a ladder watering and inspecting the huge hanging baskets at each street corner. Like Fair, she wasn't thrilled about Harry escorting Diego Aybar but she put a good face on it. Little Mim was so busy preparing for the festival that she really hadn't the time to tell anyone what she thought even if she was so inclined. Little Mim, divorced, was beginning to feel lonely. Diego would have been a suitable escort for her, too.

The last task before the parade was hanging the bunting. Everyone pitched in, so the blue and gold colors streamed across Route 240 and Whitehall Road. Bunting hung from buildings. Blue and gold flags and streamers waved from people's windows. Blue and gold were the colors of the French army under Napoleon, or so the town felt. White and gold with the fleur-de-lis was the emblem of the Royalists, so there wasn't a fleur-de-lis in sight.

In addition to the big wrecker's ball crane, which the O'Bannon brothers used to carry the heavier items through town, they owned a smaller, second crane. Roger perfected the knack of appearing wherever Lottie happened to be, always using the excuse that he had a job to do. He asked her to be his date at the Wrecker's Ball, held the first weekend in May, but she put him off, saying she needed to get through the Dogwood Festival first.

Since she didn't give him a flat no, he felt hopeful. Sean told him to give it up, as did Don Clatterbuck, his fishing buddy. Roger swore he'd win her over.

By Friday night Harry crawled home. She'd womanned the post office by herself since Miranda had to go to the airport. She also thought Miranda and Tracy would have a lot to talk about, so she forbade Miranda from coming back to work. The irony was that Miranda wasn't a postal employee. Her long-deceased husband had been the postmaster and she helped out now to keep busy. When George died she drifted in and out of the post office through force of habit. Harry performed many small services for Miranda but felt she could never adequately repay the older woman's boundless generosity.

Determined to go to bed early, Harry slipped into bed by nine; Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, too.

Just as the animals fell asleep, Pewter murmured,
“I have this feeling it's going to be a big, big day tomorrow.”

“The Dogwood Festival's always big.”
Tucker rolled over on her side.

“Something more.”
The gray cat closed her beautiful chartreuse eyes.

Mrs. Murphy, on her back next to Harry, turned her head up to look at Pewter reposing on the pillow.
“Cat intuition.”

7

Saturday dawned bright and clear, the temperature at five-thirty a.m. being forty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. The redbuds opened in full bloom, although those in the hollows where it was cooler stayed the dark raspberry color before full flowering. The apple trees still had some blooms but the pear trees were finished, as were the peaches. Tulips and pansies filled gardens in town. But the glory, the highlight, the beauty of spring resided in the dogwoods, which fortuitously chose that exact day to open. The mountains were filled with wild dogwoods. Creamy-pink flowering trees dotted bright green lawns. White and pink dogwoods lined driveways. Everywhere one looked dogwoods bloomed, and to complete the perfection, the azaleas opened, too. Hot pink, soft purple, flaming orange, pure white, and radiant pink azaleas announced their presence heralding high spring in Virginia. The wisteria swaying from doorways and pergolas added lavender and white to the unbelievable color. Old ruins, smothered in wisteria, became a focal point for photographers.

Spring had arrived but not just any spring, spring in the Blue Ridge, the apotheosis of springs.

Harry smiled as she drove to her old high school at nine
A
.
M
. The parade would start at ten. Her concession to this task was to apply mascara and to iron her jeans as well as a crisp white shirt. A red crewneck sweater kept her warm. The temperature was fiftyish. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, old hands at the parade, had been groomed to perfection.

When Harry parked the old truck the temperature had climbed to sixty degrees. By noon she figured it would reach seventy degrees and stay close to that comfortable temperature throughout the day.

Despite the jitters, everyone was smiling as they lined up on the tarmac at Crozet High School. On a day like today not smiling was impossible.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter sat on a wooden milk crate placed in the bed of the truck. As Harry had parked by the head of the parade, they had the best view. Tucker couldn't stand not being with Harry so she tagged along at her human's heels.

“How do I look?” Reverend Jones held out his arms full-length, a blue and gold marshal's sash covering his chest.

“A million bucks.” She smiled. “Are you ready?”

“What do I do but wave?” The older man laughed.

Sean and Roger O'Bannon walked up. Roger, a touch shorter than his brother, had obviously just buzz-cut his sandy hair.

“Time?”

“You've got time.” Harry smiled at him. “Like your new haircut.”

“Make time.” Roger snapped his fingers, ever the younger brother, slightly rebellious. “Do you know this is the fifteenth year I've driven a float? Do I get a medal?”

“No, Roger. It means you're a glutton for punishment.” Harry laughed at him.

“Ever since I got my driver's license.”

“Liar.” Sean poked his brother. “You drove before you had your license.”

“Not a float.”

“If Dad were here he'd settle this.”

“Well, he's not.” Roger smacked Harry on the small of her back. “Talk to Lottie for me.”

“Why?”

“She's playing hard to get.”

“Smart girl.” Sean laughed.

Roger growled at him, baring his teeth as fangs. It startled Tucker, who growled back. “I want her to be my date at the Wrecker's Ball.”

“You're upsetting my dog,” Harry said to Roger.

“Same effect he has on Lottie.”

“Sean.” Roger threw up his hands in mock despair. “What do women want?”

“Ask us one at a time,” Harry swiftly replied.

Roger laughed, “Good answer.”

Sean spoke to Roger. “Be persistent and send presents. Always works for me.”

“Oh? Since when?” Roger pulled Sean's ponytail.

“You're driving her float. That ought to spike your hormones.” Sean readjusted his ponytail. “Make her special.”

“Guys, would you like me to leave?”

“I said hormones. I didn't mention his sperm count.” Sean smirked. “No help for that.”

Harry threw up her hands. “Too much information! Go back to your respective floats.”

“You're worse with women than I am,” Roger swirled right back at his brother.

“Well?” Harry crossed her arms over her chest.

“I'm going.” Roger turned on his heel.

“I'm not.” Waiting until his brother was out of earshot, Sean whispered, “Do you think it would do any good if you spoke to Lottie?”

“Hell, no. She's pissed because BoomBoom fixed me up with someone she wanted to go to the dance with.”

“Who?”

“I don't know. A friend from Washington. Lottie doesn't know him either but he's new and he has a good position at an embassy. Guess the idea excited her. Anyway, she won't listen to me. Ask Little Mim to help you, since Lottie's been working with her for the festival. Worth a try.”

Sean smiled weakly. “Thanks, Har.” He took a few steps, then turned back to her. “He's an okay guy, a little rough around the edges. Typical motorhead.”

“I know.” She winked as Sean set out to find Little Mim.

Harry checked her watch, then her clipboard. She scanned the floats. The O'Bannon Salvage float was an elaborate reconstruction of Monticello made out of salvage.

“They'll win the prize for sure,” Reverend Herb whispered in her ear, coming up behind her.

Harry returned to her list. “Herb, you look terrific and you'll pull out in about fifteen minutes. We've got the St. Elizabeth band right behind you and the Mah-Jongg Club.”

The Mah-Jongg ladies, most of them in rickshaws being pulled by sturdy-legged youngsters, wore Chinese clothes. The club had been running strong since the 1920s and these were the survivors, Aunt Tally Urquhart among them in an electric-blue dress.

Harry grabbed the bullhorn as she ascended the three-foot-square wooden stand that served as her command post. “Hey, gang.” They chattered still. “Earth to parade. Earth to parade.” Slowly the assembled, perhaps five hundred strong, quieted. “We are ten minutes from blastoff. If you have to go to the bathroom, do it now.” A titter of laughter followed. “Remember, the parade always takes longer than we think it will. There are people with buckets filled with ice, bottled water, Gatorade, along the route. They are there for you. If you feel even a tiny bit thirsty, call out and they'll bring you your drink.”

“Scotch on the rocks,” Aunt Tally hollered, her voice strong and youthful for a woman in her nineties.

“Oh, you spoiled my present.” Reverend Herb Jones trotted over, handing her a bottle of good scotch as everyone around screamed with laughter and the news was passed down the line, with more laughter following in ripples.

“I could use some catnip.”
Pewter was grateful that Harry had put a huge bowl of water in the truck as well as crunchies but she wanted catnip, too.

“Get in a rickshaw then. Your chances will improve.”
Murphy laughed.

“I just might.”
The gray cat leaned over the edge of the truck.

Harry checked her watch again. “Eight minutes.”

An athletic figure jogged alongside the assembled floats.

“Welcome home!” Harry beamed, seeing Tracy Raz.

“Hey, girl.” He kissed her as she leaned down. “I'll catch up with you later. Cuddles is nervous. I think she's blown every note on her pitch pipe.” He laughed at Miranda, whom he sometimes called Cuddles, her high-school nickname.

Miranda was the lead singer for the Church of the Holy Light and the choir was arranged on a float called Stairway to Paradise, which was just what you would expect.

“Have you seen Boom?”

“I did a minute ago. Primping.” He smiled.

“Big surprise. Hey, you'll be at the tea dance. I'll find you there.”

“You got it.” He kissed her again and jogged back down the line, where Miranda could be seen in her choir robes, her back turned toward Harry. The other choir members were taking their places on the stairway to paradise. A few appeared as though their Maker might call them soon enough.

“Mom, don't forget to drink water yourself,”
Tucker, ever solicitous, barked.

Harry stepped down, lifted the dog, and climbed back up. She didn't understand a word the corgi had said.

Jim Sanburne and Little Mim sat in an open convertible behind Herb's float.

Harry smiled at them and they smiled back. “Little Mim, Sean's looking for you.”

“He found me. I'll do what I can,” came the unenthusiastic reply.

Lottie was on the third float, Daughters of Time, sponsored by the United Daughters of the Confederacy. Lottie's hoopskirt was so big a stiff wind would send her airborne. Roger was driving that float while Sean was driving the O'Bannon float.

“Four minutes,” Harry called out.

A tug at her jeans behind her turned her around. BoomBoom, dressed as a 1920s flapper for the Heart Fund float, said, “I want you to meet Diego before the tea. Mary Minor Haristeen, please meet Diego Aybar.”

Harry's mouth moved but nothing came out. She was staring into the liquid brown eyes of one of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen. “Uh—welcome to Crozet.”

“My pleasure. BoomBoom tells me I should meet you at Aunt Tally's”—he said “Aunt Tally's” with a Spanish accent and a hint of good humor—“garden. She says everyone falls in love in the garden.”

“With the garden.” Harry smiled.

“No, in the garden,” BoomBoom corrected. “Listen, I've got to get back on my float. Diego, the two best places to see the parade are from the back of Harry's truck or on the corner of Route 240 and Whitehall Road.”

“Try the truck,” Harry stammered. “The two cats are good companions.”

The two cats at that very moment were laughing at their mother, who was in a state. Neither could ever remember seeing Harry like that.

“The best friends come on four feet,” he said in his beguiling light baritone.

“Now there's a man with sense.”
Mrs. Murphy walked forward to greet him as he gracefully bounded into the truck bed.

“One minute,” Harry called into the bullhorn.

Reverend Herb Jones straightened up, took a deep breath. In the car behind him, Little Mim leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. The drivers started their motors. Some band members threw back their shoulders, others licked their reeds, while the drummers spun their drumsticks in anticipation.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—showtime!” Harry called.

The drummers clicked their sticks in rhythm. The four different high-school bands interspersed throughout the parade marched in place. The Reverend Jones cruised first, slowly out of the school lot. The St. Elizabeth band, first with the music, initially walked out to bass drums only,
boom, boom, boom;
then the snare drums kicked in and within a minute they all burst forth with the ever-popular theme song from
Rocky
.

Harry waved as each group passed her. She heard the roar from all the people crowded along the path. Tears sprang into her eyes. She felt as if her own life were parading before her. The sight of Tally Urquhart in her rickshaw, participating in her ninety-second parade (Tally was a star even as a toddler) brought the tears rolling down.

What great good fortune to be where you know people, you love people, and hopefully they love you. The fact that her family had nested here immediately after the Revolutionary War, having drifted over from the Tidewater, where they'd lived since 1640, only deepened the experience of home.

Tucker crowded next to Harry. Tucker loved music. The cats had leapt to the roof of the truck so as not to miss a single thing.

Harry waved as friends and neighbors passed, and then she glanced back at Diego. His smile was five thousand megawatts. She smiled back at him, grateful that this small slice of Virginia pleased him. It hadn't occurred to her that she pleased him, too.

Harry felt as though her chest would burst. The joy, as high as grief was deep, nearly overwhelmed her.