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Nathan Brown, of the Farmer's Market.
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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.
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“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.
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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.
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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
Chapter
One.
Chapter
Two.
Chapter
Three.
Chapter
Four.
Chapter
Five.
Chapter
Six.
Chapter
Seven.
Chapter
Eight.
Chapter
Nine.
Chapter
Ten.
Chapter
Eleven.
Images. The Art of Louis Shalako, available from ArtPal and Fine Art America.
He also has books
and stories on iTunes.
Thank you for reading.
