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| Nathan Brown, of the Farmer's Market. |
Chapter Twelve
Miss Andrews had a sneaking affection…
Miss Andrews had always had a sneaking affection for Nathan Brown, who ran one of the better booths at the Farmer’s Market. He looked up with a smile of recognition. Nathan was about fifty-eight, according to a friend of hers. May Greenberg was Nathan’s cousin. Miss Andrews and May played cards Thursday nights at the Scudmore Community Centre. May was a holy terror, and the two often partnered, as Polly wasn’t very good, but you had to be fair in the match-ups or no one would come out anymore.
The building’s interior was unheated, with open barn-type doors at one end. Their breath hung in clouds in the clean glare of the lights hanging in the rafters. Some of the booths had tall quartz heaters manfully emitting their orange glow into the room.
“Hello.” Cheerful as always, that Nathan. “We thought we’d missed you. We wondered if you were sick or something.”
Nick Jackson in the next booth nodded sagely.
Nathan had a few cows and a huge garden, a fifty-acre farm four kilometres out of town.
“We figured wild horses couldn’t keep you away from your brown eggs and fresh home-made pies.” Jackson was all right, not nearly so cute though.
He drove in from the Pembridge area once a week.
“I’m sorry, Nathan, but something came up.” She blushed a bit and would say no more.
She was intently squeezing and checking over the heads of cabbage, looking for moldy spots on the potatoes, which to be fair were hard as a rock, and Nathan was very good about cleaning the dirt off of them before bringing them to market.
“These apples are still in pretty good shape.” Nathan, obviously wanting to know more, but too polite to go digging into a customer’s private business.
“Maybe she’s got herself a boyfriend.” Jackson was always like that—
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| Incorrigible. |
He poked his neighbor in the ribs with an elbow as Nathan pulled a couple of clear plastic bags off the roll for her.
“Oh, you. You’re incorrigible, always the same thing.”
It occurred to Polly that Nick might like her and be too shy to say, but that was the way, wasn’t it? Always the ones you weren’t really interested in. As usual, he needed a shave.
Nathan’s eyes held a gleam of unspoken agreement. Polly was sixty-three, but when you stop looking, you’re dead, as May was fond of saying, over and over and over again.
While sex at her age required some stretch of the imagination, it would be nice to have some male companionship in her allegedly golden years. Polly selected a bag of carrots, making sure that there were no squishy black spots on them, and began to pick through the tomatoes. She became aware that Nathan was watching closely, blue eyes glittering behind his bi-focal glasses. Polly hadn’t been born yesterday. She could read him, and Jackson, like a book. In Jackson’s case, this would be about two hundred and fifty blank or at least very predictable pages.
“The green beans are pretty good.” Nathan’s unspoken thoughts lurked inside him.
“I can see that. I’m not blind, you know, Nathan.”
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| She's not blind. |
“She’s got a boyfriend for sure, Nate. I told you to get in there before it’s too late.” Jackson and the rhymes.
As Polly recalled, Jackson fancied himself something of a poet, going out on Thursday nights to a local writer’s group and reading. His stuff was okay, or so people said.
“I do not.” Polly said this with some heat. “Don’t you be writing any of your doggerel verse about me, Mister Jackson.”
Jackson laughed and moved back to the other end of his booth to serve a couple she recognized from church. People talk, she thought with dread.
“Sorry about that, Miss Andrews. He’s got an evil mind.”
“Your nephews must be coming up for the holidays.” Nate’s nod at her unusually heavy purchases sank in and she understood.
This was the very devil of a town to keep a secret in. All the gossip Polly had heard over the years had to come from some source. What came next surprised her. It came right out of the blue.
“Would you like to go to the dance a week from next Saturday?”
Her heart skipped a beat or two when she heard that, but Polly couldn’t think of any reason why not.
***
Janet Herbert was looking for a few cheap gifts. The sorrow in her heart came from many sources. It wasn’t the first time that Janet had gone Christmas shopping without Don at her side, but it was the first time that she had ever been in a state of abject poverty. It wasn’t the first time that she had been really worried about the future. It was the first time in her life when she had been truly depressed. She was familiar with the word of course, but lately she was starting to wonder just how far it could go, and just how bad it could get.
It was with some trepidation that she looked furtively around, when she arrived in front of the Goodwill Thrift Shop, before reaching out for the handle and opening up the door. She became aware of a green minivan pulling up to the drop boxes, several of them lined up in a row along the right side of the parking lot, against the fence that separated the store from the next parking lot. With a kind of panic in her heart, she sought refuge inside before too many people saw her. Janet was grateful to see several others, perfectly-normal looking people browsing around, looking at the manifold items on the shelves and counters. Now that she was in, her natural good humor and optimism reasserted itself. It wasn’t the end of the world, and somehow or other they would get through this. It was a character-building experience, she told herself with a slightly rueful grin. For some reason, she was expecting bleak, half-empty shelves, in some surreal pre-conceived notions. A store was a store. Her natural instincts took over.
A neighbor was looking after Ashley. Jason was at a friend’s house, and she needed some time to herself anyway. Ashley was still young enough that she would be relatively easy to shop for, and she wouldn’t even know it was someone else’s stuff, previously owned, as the saying went.
Jason, now, that was another story. With a little luck, she might find some of last year’s games or something he didn’t already have. With the perpetual certainty of the young, he had an extensive list of must-haves. Her son was bound to be disappointed if his mom couldn’t create miracles, if she couldn’t conjure up something out of nothing, but he was showing quite a lot of maturity lately. Maybe it would be all right. He was plaguing her for the internet, which he had at school. Thank God for that, at least. But staying after school to use it was beyond him, unfortunately. All the other kids had the internet, or so he said.
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| Confronted with a store, instincts take over. |
In a store like this, fifty dollars might go a long way, but she had to save something for the gas bill and the hydro bill. Otherwise they would cut her off. She had heard that they didn’t do that in winter, but if the bills got too big, they would surely cut them off when spring rolled around. All she could do was to make small but regular payments.
She was surprised to see that some of the children’s clothing was of quite good quality, but then kids grow out of stuff with depressing frequency. She was soon busily examining a lovely knitted sweater, yellow, Ashley’s favorite color. It had green frogs knitted into the front of it, and she was sure her daughter would love it. At a price of four dollars, she could afford to look for some dolls, or some other toys.
There was another young woman looking through the coat racks. She couldn’t help but see that the woman had no coat at all, and Janet didn’t think she’d hung it up by the door when coming in. She seemed to be a few years younger than herself, quite heavy, with dark, greasy, stringy hair, running shoes with no socks and a long, shapeless dress. She had on a big, thick, hooded sweater. Her legs were bare and hadn’t been shaven in some time. Shameful as it might seem, Janet cheered up a little at the sight. She went looking for something for Jason. Maybe a good pair of jeans, nicely faded, or maybe she could find some cool T-shirts, and of course some kind of video game. Jason would need shorts when summer came along, but Christmas was all about right now, wasn’t it?
“Janet?”
Turning, she saw a face she hadn’t seen in years. The name would come to her in a minute. Overly strong fluorescents made everything look unreal. There was almost a haze in the air. The place was chilly at best. It was modern social policy at work, making Ontario a better place for everyone unless you were one of the ones that it didn’t.
“Janet Herbert. Long time no see.”
Despite her momentary confusion, Janet knew the person from high school.
“Samantha? Sam Davies?”
The other woman smiled. She was a year younger than Janet in high school, and probably still was, she realized.
“We’ve got some good bargains, and there’s another truck unloading out back. How have you been?”
Sam gave her a hug as Janet blinked in confusion. They were on the track and field team together, winning the provincial championship in her senior year for the high jump and the thousand-metre relay. The vivacious and outgoing brunette held her at arm’s length, examining her with cheerful good humor.
“Oh. Fine. Uh, thank you.”
While they knew each other, they hadn’t really run in the same circles socially. It was nice to see a friendly face, though.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to Don.” Sam’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Have you received your Yule Glow form in the mail yet?”
Janet didn’t know what she was talking about. She just shook her head, not knowing what to say.
“Well, when you’re done your shopping, come in the back room and I’ll help you fill one out.”
Janet remembered a rumor that went around all those years ago.
Samantha had this big crush on Don. It’s funny how life turns things around.
“Thank you.”
After picking out a few small pathetic things for Jason, she sought out Sam, who explained that the Goodwill, the Salvation Army and the St. Vincent de Paul would pitch in and provide less fortunate families with a food hamper a few days before Christmas.
“I wondered when I saw you weren’t on the list.”
“I’m not on welfare…yet.”
Samantha took out a form from a stack on the desk, and wrote down her name, address, and phone number, cautiously and diplomatically plying her with questions.
“How old are your children?” Janet blinked back tears.
Janet told her Ashley was three and a half, and Jason nine.
“We try to provide a few simple toys for the kids. What sort of things does Jason like? Skateboards and bicycles? Snorkels” Model ships? Boomerangs and orangutangs, dinosaurs and fossils, and books about outer space?”
“Oh, God, the usual boy-type things.”
While a shoulder to cry on might be nice at times, she really didn’t want to break down right now.
“When do your unemployment benefits run out?”
“I’ll get another three cheques. And then I don’t know what I’ll do.”
That would get her through about the next six, or maybe with a little luck, eight weeks.
“Well, that’s that.” Sam placed the completed form on another stack, this one surprisingly high.
Those ones were all filled out. All those names, she thought, all those people.
“Sylvia’s break time.” Janet followed Sam back to the checkout counter at the front of the store.
Samantha took over the cash register and the person known as Sylvia retreated gratefully to the back room.
“A manager’s job is never done. We haven’t got the sign up yet, but everything’s half-off today. The prices are pretty arbitrary anyway.”
Janet didn’t know what to say to that, as Sam began to run things through. Sam’s eyes met hers in unspoken understanding.
“Does Jason like games? Model cars? I could keep an eye out.”
Janet just nodded wordlessly, too embarrassed to try to speak.
“I have some influence around here, you know.” And that was all she said.
Perhaps it was enough.
***
Jean was shoveling snow not far away when he saw the young lady go into the store.
There was something about the shame-faced way she sidled up to the door, and he was almost sure it was the same coat he had seen before, a kind of off-white, nylon parka with grey trimmings in long faux-fur around the hood, down the front and around the wrists.
He still had a half a driveway to clear, but if he turned the other way, he could keep the place in sight. After another twenty minutes or so he was done. He was just leaning on his shovel, talking to the homeowner when he saw the lady come out again. She was laden with a couple of large, obviously-recycled plastic shopping bags. Jean could tell because they were different colors, from different stores. Thanking the gentleman profusely for the money he had earned, getting quite a wad together now after three days of constant snowfall, he peeled out with a backward wave and scuttled after her. His heavily-lugged hiking boots were still slippery due to the icy frozen patches underfoot, but he used the shovel like a walking stick. He made good time.
“Excuse me, ma’am, can I help you with those packages?” Jean smiled into her startled eyes.
“Oh, thank you.”
While Don and Janet were high-school sweethearts, and it all seemed so natural at the time, perhaps even inevitable, she had no experience at all in courting as an adult. Still, he was good-looking and behaved like a gentleman. She handed over one of the bags, but he reached and grabbed both of them.
“It’s a pleasure. We have not been properly introduced. My name is Jean Gagnon.”
“I’m Janet. Janet Herbert.” They picked their way past a storefront, long abandoned, where the walks weren’t shoveled and heaps of crusty snow obstructed their passage.
The old-fashioned courtesy was awfully sweet.
“Here is the truck.” He spoke as if for the record.
“Thank you.” She was wondering what to say.
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| Jean. Jean Gagnon. |
The doors weren’t locked. No one would steal the old thing in her opinion. Jean carefully placed the bags on the seat as if they contained the Crown jewels.
“Maybe I could buy you a coffee. I could use a break, and the company.”
“That would be nice.” There was this moment of panic in her heart.
What was she doing? She didn’t know how to handle this, and yet she didn’t want to be rude. Maybe he sensed her shyness.
“You’re very kind. I’m just a new guy in town, and I haven’t any friends, although everyone has been very, very nice.”
She allowed him to lead her into the coffee shop, and he steered her to a table, and then went up to the counter, looking back with a question.
“How do you take it?”
“Cream and sugar.” One of each, so to speak.
She sat at the table and looked around, but no one was watching. She felt very strange, but it wasn’t like a pickup bar or anything like that. It was such a small town, everyone knew everybody else’s business. He came back with a heavily-laden tray. Casually glancing around, she saw it was mostly strangers in here.
“I hope you will forgive me, but I took the liberty. Everyone likes Danishes.” He had a charming moment of shyness.
He took a bite, and watched her while she chewed at hers in determination.
“Has your husband had time to fix the truck yet?” Her heart quivered.
Janet took a deep breath, and gulped, and wondered what to say. She was afraid of what might come out.
But she surprised herself, telling him simply and with great dignity that she had been widowed for some years. He nodded in understanding and had sense enough not to ply her with too many unfortunate questions.
“I’m very sorry.”
She began to tell him a little more of her story, with Jean nodding and saying, ‘Uh-huh,’ at appropriate moments. His big brown eyes were sad, warm with sympathy, and intelligent.
When she petered out, he was quiet for a moment.
“And what about the children?”
She started off again, focusing on her coffee cup from time to time as if to see some sign from an oracle in its depths. The Danishes were pretty good, she noticed. It was so nice to have someone totally neutral, totally objective to talk to. But she really didn’t want to burden him with her problems.
Maybe he was just lonely.
“And all of your Christmas shopping? Is it done?” He prodded, gently but inexorably nice.
Janet found herself telling him all about the Goodwill store, and how she was out of work, and everything, while Jean just sat there listening. Finally she ran out of things she thought it was important to tell him.
“And what about you?”
“Pardon?” She asked in some confusion, but could she really be so confused?
“What about you? It has been three or four years? No?” He asked in a completely natural and neutral tone.
“Well, I…”
Then she giggled.
“I don’t have much to talk about.”
Jean smiled right along with her, nodding and biting his lip.
“Well, nothing lasts forever. Not even the bad stuff.”
END
Images. The Art of Louis Shalako, available from ArtPal and Fine Art America.
He also has books and stories on iTunes.
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