“Genuine,” he pleaded, “I can’t get them to leave. Could you please come to the diner and help me move ’em along?”
I knew what I’d find when I got there: Penny Walton and the entire Sass Women’s Club, every one of them shrieking and pointing fingers. I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t leave them to ruin Ham’s business, either.
“I’ll come right now,” I told him.
“Not without me, you’re not,” Jura said.
Even from down the way and across the street, I could see that Ham’s was sardine-packed. A row of people stood at the door and curled around the side of the building.
Ham used his bulk to shuffle me and Jura through the door. There was a slew of familiar faces there, but Penny Walton wasn’t among them.
“All right, folks! She’s here!” Ham hollered. He led me to “my” booth, where I’d given Miz Tromp and Handyman Joe their wish biscuits. Cousin Faye stood nearby, just a-beamin’ as she taped a construction-paper sign to the table:
Reserved! for
Sass’s Own
Genuine Sweet,
Wish Fetcher
Jura and I slid into the booth. What else could we do? One by one, the citizens of Sass came forward, some hopeful and some pained, but all of them with a wish that needed fetching.
If only their faces weren’t so full of trust. If only they’d ask for things like jewels and TVs, instead of medicine and work clothes, I could send ’em packing. Instead, I tore page after page from my notebook, taking it all down, watching as the number of wish biscuits I’d need to make doubled, then tripled.
Dimly, I recalled the ghost in Macbeth who said, “Sleep no more!”
I caught my mirror image in the window and pondered what it might be like to live there, on the distant side of things. Folks couldn’t demand doodly from me; I’d be nothing but a reflection, far away, where things were watery and quiet. For a time, I just lingered there in my imagination.
As if from far off, I heard Jura talking with Jerry Tatum about a tractor.
“It don’t have to be new. I’d take just about any tractor, long as it ran.” He shrugged. “Course I can’t pay for it.”
“No, I understand,” Jura replied, “but maybe you have something you can trade?”
“Well, I ain’t got no crops for trade, ’cause I ain’t got no tractor.”
“No, I can see that,” Jura agreed. “But there must be something—a service maybe?”
He couldn’t think of anything.
“Genuine? Any ideas?” Jura asked me.
From the stack of wish lists, a twinkle caught my eye. Silver light danced beside one of the names. Missus Sandidge had wished for a place to hold her twenty-fifth annual family reunion. A few notes of otherworldly music rang in my ear. I knew that song! It was the melody of the stars!
“Mister Tatum, that big barn of yours, the one facing the Henderson property, is it still empty?” I asked, starting to get excited.
“’Cept for my dead tractor,” he answered.
“Would you be willing to let someone use that barn for just a few days, if they would loan you their tractor when they weren’t using it?” I knew the Sandidges had a fine tractor that they used for only part of one season each year.
He nodded so broadly it nearly doubled him over. “Heck, yes!”
Missus Sandidge was still at Ham’s counter slurping a milkshake. I called her over. In under sixty seconds, both Jerry and Missus Sandidge left smiling.
“You’re a genius, Genuine!” Jura exclaimed. “That’s two less biscuits you have to bake! Who else can we pair up?”
By six-thirty, Ham’s place had cleared out.
“Mister Rucker,” I said into Ham’s phone, “if you’ll see Miz Sams in the morning, I know she’d love to swap you some housecleaning help in exchange for a ride to her doctor appointment in Ardenville.”
Jura called Dennis Talley. “The hardware store needs an extra hand over the holidays, Dennis. They can’t afford wages, but they’ll be happy to pay you in building materials.”
And so it went. By eight o’clock, we had paired fourteen additional sets of people.
Hanging up the phone, Jura turned to me. “Not bad for a day’s work.”
“Miz Sams was really excited.” I had to smile.
“They all were,” Jura agreed.
“Genuine Sweet! What were you thinking?” Gram met me at the gate. She held her hands in a knot at her chest.
“Roxie Fuller showed me on her computer what you done,” she fretted. “Saying you’re a fourth-generation wish fetcher! From Sass, Georgia, no less! Putting up your picture for all the world to see!”
I gaped. “But Gram! You said Ma advertised in the Ardenville newspaper!”
“She didn’t put her name! And she used one of those blind addresses! Nobody ever knew who she was!” She plunked down on Pa’s apple crate and put her head in her hands.
Gazing up at me, her eyes full of regret, she said, “I didn’t even think to remember you might put your wishes on those Interwebs.”
“But . . . you said to find my own way,” I reminded her.
“And here’s what comes of it.” She held out her hand, revealing a balled-up paper. I smoothed it open against my palm.
Now Hiring, the flyer said. Town Handyman. Apply at City Hall.
“This is something Pa might be able to do!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you think?”
“I did think so,” Gram agreed. “Even went to city hall to get the details.”
I gulped. “And?”
“And I run into Penny Walton.” Gram took the job ad from me. “She told me Dale shouldn’t bother to apply—not while his daughter’s running around making trouble like she is.”
“No!”
“I asked her what business it was of hers—she don’t run this town. She said the mayor wouldn’t dare hire against her wishes, seeing as how he’s hoping to buy one of her properties for a real low price. Can you believe that? Full-out bribery! The very stench of it!”
I was strack hard. That job could have made a real difference for us. Bills paid. Groceries bought. Penny Walton making a ruckus on the street corner was one thing, but this was real spite—the dangerous sort.