The Waltons 2 - Trouble on the Mountain (18 page)

“Looks good to me, Ike.”

“I sure hope you’re taking your Grandpa home, John-Boy. I enjoy his company, but I ain’t got no license to run no hotel here.”

“I’ll try, Ike.”

In the kitchen, Grandpa was awake, but just barely. He blinked at John-Boy a couple of times, then yawned and placed the small cushion back on the seat of Ike’s chair. “Well, how’s everything at home, John-Boy?”

“Pretty busy, Grandpa.”

“Busy? Doing what?” He rose and turned on the fire under the coffeepot.

“Everybody’s getting ready to go to the dance.”

“The dance, huh? Well, I hope they all have a good time. What’s your grandma going to do?”

“She’s going too. Everybody’s going. Don’t guess anybody wants to miss Fred Hansen’s calling.”

Grandpa glared at him for a minute, then turned back and rattled the coffeepot over the flames. “Is that so? Grandma’s fixing to see Fred Hansen again, is she?”

Ike came in, finished with his haircut. “You going to the dance, Ike?” John-Boy asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Didn’t realize it was getting so late.” Ike got a can of soup from the shelf and searched the drawer for an opener.

“So Esther’s getting herself all dolled up to see that squirt,” Grandpa said, nodding to himself.

“I don’t guess you’ll be going, will you, Grandpa?”

Grandpa turned sharply. “Who says I won’t? I ain’t ever missed a dance in Walton’s Mountain in my whole life. Ike, I’ll be having some of that soup. You’d better be opening another can.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I think I’ll be having a haircut too. Ain’t going to no dance all shaggy.”

Ike stared at him. “Aw, Zeb, come on. I ain’t got no time to—”

“It’ll only take a minute. Now, John-Boy, you’d better be getting on out of here. Ike and I got things to do.”

John-Boy smiled.

“Shall I tell them you’re coming, Grandpa?”

“There’s no need for you to tell anybody anything. When there’s a dance in Walton’s Mountain, ever’body knows Zebulon Walton’s going to be there. Now scoot!”

X

W
hen he saw Sheriff Bridges’ car parked in front of the house, John-Boy deliberately headed around for the back. He didn’t feel much like talking to anybody. And from the kitchen he could get upstairs without being seen. It would also give him a chance to get cleaned up and dressed before the bathroom got crowded.

Reckless barked and jumped around, his whole body squirming with a greeting. John-Boy gave him a scratch on the neck and went quietly through the door.

From the noise in the living room it sounded like they were having a party. Mary Ellen was talking excitedly, and everyone else seemed to be asking questions at the same time. John-Boy listened for a minute, but decided not to join them. Whatever they were enjoying so much, his presence would unquestionably dampen the fun.

“Are you sure that’s the same one, Mary Ellen?”

It was his father’s voice, and John-Boy stopped on his way to the stairs, listening.

“It must be, Daddy. But the only ones who ever saw it were John-Boy and Grandpa.”

“And the Baldwin sisters,” Sheriff Bridges said. “I reckon we could go out there and ask them.”

“Oh, no,” Olivia protested. “From what John-Boy said, those two ladies have already got broken hearts. I don’t think we’d better risk it until we’re sure.”

“Where’d John-Boy go, Mama?”

“He went searching for Grandpa.”

John-Boy edged closer to the door. Was it possible? He didn’t dare let his hopes rise again. But what else could they be talking about?

“Imagine that burglar feeling sorry for you,” Grandma was saying. “I declare, it just restores your faith in human nature, don’t it?”

“But we had to pay six dollars to the man at the shop,” Mary Ellen said. “Sheriff Bridges paid it, Daddy.”

“Well, don’t worry about that. Here, Ep, I’ll give it to you right now.”

No, it couldn’t be the typewriter. Or could it? Maybe it was some kind of beauty kit. But for six dollars? John-Boy’s heart began throbbing faster. If he was wrong, and they were talking about something else, he wasn’t sure he could take the disappointment. But neither could he stand not knowing.

John-Boy took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. He took his hands from his pockets, squared his shoulders, and strolled as casually as he could into the living room. “Hi, everybody.”

His voice came out tighter and higher than normal, and his smile felt like it was going to crack his lips. For an instant everyone gawked at him. And then Mary Ellen was squealing, grabbing his arm, pulling him forward.

“John-Boy, we found it! We found it!”

John-Boy guessed he would have passed out if Mary Ellen had said anything different. His heart almost exploded out of his ribs as he staggered forward. Everyone was grinning, making room for him, and it was there—the Baldwin sisters’ typewriter—sitting squarely in the middle of the coffee table. For a minute he thought he was going to pass out anyway. He moved slowly toward it and got down on his knees, grinning, touching it.

“Is that it, John-Boy?” his father asked.

He couldn’t speak. His throat was suddenly clogged with relief and joy and disbelief. It was as if someone had just lifted a thousand-pound-weight from his back. He nodded.

“We found it over in Charlottesville,” Mary Ellen said.

“Mary Ellen, Erin, and Elizabeth, and Jim-Bob,” Sheriff Bridges said. “We all tracked it down.”

“And this old man—he looked so terrible when we first saw him at the police station, he—”

John-Boy had a hard time following the story. But he didn’t worry about it. He nodded and grinned, and looked up at each of them as they told bits and pieces. But his thoughts were mostly on the Baldwin house, and the two distraught ladies who occupied it.

Two hours later John-Boy decided that the Baldwin sisters were far more resilient than he had thought. Just as their reaction to his announcement that the typewriter had been lost was controlled and without hysterics, they received the good news with similar restraint. But deep inside, John-Boy suspected their hearts were turning cartwheels.

Miss Emily saw it first. John-Boy carried it back in a box, and when she answered the door she blinked down as it for what seemed like a full minute.

“Why, John-Boy, whatever have you got there? I declare, if you hadn’t told me it was lost, I’d just swear that was Papa’s typewriting machine!”

“It is, Miss Emily.”

“Well, I declare. I do declare! Come in, John-Boy.
Sister! Mamie, John-Boy Walton’s here. He’s come a-calling, and he’s returned Papa’s typewriting machine!
Do sit down, John-Boy. You can put the box right there on the table. You’ll have some Recipe, won’t you, John-Boy.
Maaamieee!”

“I don’t reckon I’d better have any Recipe, Miss Emily.”

“Oh, of course not. What am I saying? Oh, dear me, I’m just all a-flutter for some reason.
Mamie!”

Miss Mamie hesitated at the door, then went directly to the box and looked inside. She looked at John-Boy, then back at the machine. “Well, I do declare,” she breathed and then bit at her lip, controlling the sudden joy that leaped into her heart. “Why, John-Boy Walton, aren’t you just the limit! Telling us Papa’s typewriting machine was off in some junkyard in Philadelphia, and then bringing it right back to us the very next day. Why, John-Boy Walton, you’re just a caution.”

“It was in two junkyards, Miss Mamie.”

“Two junkyards! Well! Did you hear that, Emily? Well, I’m just not surprised the proprietors of those two establishments saw right clearly that this machine is a far cry from the merchandise they usually deal with.”

“Yes’m,” John-Boy smiled.

“Well!” Miss Emily said, “well, isn’t this just something! And I’m just not surprised one bit by your success, John-Boy. You did tell us you’d find it. And you sure enough did.”

“We should never have doubted him, Emily.”

“No, we shouldn’t have. And wouldn’t Papa be pleased! Why, John-Boy, he would have just shaken your hand and been as proud as he could be!”

“Yes, he would,” Miss Mamie agreed.

They appeared to be at a loss for words for a minute. They looked at the machine, at John-Boy, and at each other, both smiling, then sighing.

“Emily,” Miss Mamie finally said, “I do feel like having a tiny spot of Papa’s Recipe, don’t you? It’s so nice to have John-Boy come a-calling.”

“And some lemonade for you, John-Boy?”

John-Boy smiled. “Well, I was kind of figuring you ladies ought to be getting ready to go to the dance. It’ll be starting in about an hour. And I’d be real pleased to be your escort.”

The sisters must have forgotten all about the dance. They both stared at him for a minute and then looked brightly at each other.

“What a wonderful idea, John-Boy!”

“I declare, Sister, I don’t know of anything I’d rather do than go to a dance tonight. And with John-Boy escorting us. I don’t think I ever felt more like dancing!”

“Let’s hurry, Mamie. We’ve only got an hour.”

John-Boy had already eaten supper and dressed for the dance. While the ladies were upstairs he sat on one of the love seats and rested his head back, for the first time in days experiencing no fears and tensions and worries. He decided he would never borrow anything from the Baldwin sisters again. And before he ever told another lie he would think long and hard about this past week. And tonight he would be sure to say his prayers, with a word of thanks to Mary Ellen, Erin, Elizabeth, Jim-Bob and Sheriff Bridges. And to the mysterious man who stole ancient typewriters from the front of pawn shops and then had pangs of conscience over what he had done.

“John-Boy? We’re all ready, John-Boy.”

John-Boy blinked, then straightened, blinking again, realizing he had been asleep. The two ladies were standing in front of him, dressed as pretty as magazine pictures, and smelling like a truckload of spring flowers. John-Boy shook his head.

“Miss Mamie, Miss Emily, you two must be about the two prettiest-dressed ladies in the whole state of Virginia.”

Their smiles widened and Miss Emily twirled lightly around. “You’re just a perfect gentleman, John-Boy. I do hope you’ll be saving a dance for both of us.”

“I reckon it’s you who’ll have to do the saving. I don’t expect any menfolk will let either of you do much sitting tonight.”

“Now, now, John-Boy, don’t you go carrying on.”

The ladies held out their arms, and John-Boy escorted them to the car.

“Swing your partner ’round, and ’round, turn up a toe an’ stamp the groun’. Girls take a boy and boys take a girl, kick up your heels and give ’em a twirl!”

From the looks of things, Oglethorpe Hansen was every bit as good a dance caller as Grandma said he was. The livery stable was packed, and everyone who was capable of standing on two feet was out in the middle, dancing. The few who weren’t were clapping to the rhythmn. John-Boy even saw Elizabeth being swung around by Ike Godsey.

“My, my,” Miss Emily beamed as they crowded their way through the door, “I think just ever’body in Jefferson County must be here tonight.”

John-Boy guided the two ladies along the wall until they found what appeared to be unoccupied chairs. But as quickly as they sat down, two men were bowing graciously, asking the ladies to dance.

“I declare,” Miss Mamie twittered hesitantly, “it’s just been such a long time since I danced.”

“You’ll just have to be ever so patient with me,” Miss Emily said to her partner, and then they were swept away into the crowd.

“Hey, Ike!” John-Boy called as Ike twirled Elizabeth past, “is Grandpa here?”

“No. He was pressing his pants when I left.”

John-Boy wondered what that meant. Had Grandpa maybe changed his mind and used that for an excuse with Ike? Or was he preparing for a grand entrance? John-Boy scanned the crowd.

Grandma was dancing with Mr. Ellison—doing a pretty good job keeping up with him. John-Boy’s mother and father were dancing with each other, and he spotted most of his brothers and sisters scattered around.

“Hi, John-Boy.”

John-Boy turned to see Marianne Fletcher smiling at him. Marianne was not the prettiest girl in Walton’s Mountain. But it was generally agreed that she was the hardest-baseball-thrower. “Hi, Marianne. Would you like to dance?”

“I sure would.”

“Hold ’em tight and let ’em go, then swing ’em ’round real slow. One more twirl, that’s all you do; and now good folks, this dance is through!”

The music stopped abruptly, catching all the dancers by surprise. They laughed, and most of them, with a feeling of relief, headed back to their seats.

John-Boy thanked Marianne and moved toward the chairs, uncertain about how much escorting the Baldwin sisters needed. What he found was his whole family in a confused crowd that included Miss Emily and Miss Mamie.

“We were just so surprised when John-Boy came,” Miss Mamie was saying. “And right there, just as pretty as you please, was Papa’s typewriting machine. Mrs. Walton, I just can’t tell you how highly we regard your oldest son. Two helpless ladies like Emily and me—it’s so comforting to know there’s a capable young man around.”

John-Boy skirted quietly around the group. He could see that his mother’s stiff smile contained little warmth.

“I do hope John-Boy and Zebulon thanked you-all for the sweet potatoes you sent over the other day,” Miss Emily sighed. “I declare, the whole Walton family are the most neighborly people in all Walton’s Mountain.”

Olivia’s eyebrows went up a little. “I hope you enjoyed them,” she smiled. After a sharp glance at John-Boy she added, “And someday I must give you Edna Zimmerman’s recipe for cooking them.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice, Sister,” Miss Mamie bubbled.

The dancers were all wiping their foreheads with handkerchiefs, but the fiddler started up again. Standing next to Grandma, John-Boy suddenly felt himself nudged aside.

It was Fred Oglethorpe Hansen, and John-Boy couldn’t help noticing his beautiful white teeth. And his hair, which was about half gray and half pure black, was in perfect sets of waves from his forehead down to the back of his neck.