As for Travis—though he has his fits and starts—most days he leaves his surly black pants and his angry black shirt at home. He works afternoons at the RNN and is the youngest TV executive east of the Mississippi. Having something worthwhile to do with himself—not to mention, ahem, a girlfriend and a sideline fetching wishes—seems to suit him fine.
Jura and Sonny broke up the second week of December. It was a friendly sort of thing. Jura wanted to focus on SUBA and her college applications, and Sonny wanted to spend more time buddying up to Travis. I think he fancies himself a news anchor someday.
Tom’s retreat center opened just last week. Penny Walton is his biggest investor, and Miz Tromp supplies all the herbal fixin’s.
Tom and Miz Tromp are “seeing each other exclusively” (according to Miz Tromp), or they’re “practically engaged” (according to Tom). Meanwhile, JoBeth Haines and Kip Tromp actually are engaged, set to be married this summer.
Pa still drinks too much. But he did get a part-time job sweeping floors at the RNN, so that’s something.
Who else might you want to know about? Let’s see. Scree Hopkins and Micky Forks tried to run off and elope a couple weeks ago. Micky leaves for military school next week.
So there you have it. Only two more scraps and we’ll have a quilt.
Not long after Thanksgiving, I was by myself, reading, when a strange notion came to me. I simply knew I needed to take a walk.
It was cold out, of course, being December, so I put on my heavy coat and one of Gram’s scarves—a handmade, shimmering white one that I’d always thought made her look so beautiful.
Seeing as how I was alone in the house, there wasn’t anyone to say goodbye to on my way out.
I walked along the creek for a while, following it until it bent like a hairpin. There it met up with Deer Run Way, which took me toward town. It was a back road and a longish walk. I was a little lost in my thoughts when I suddenly found myself beside my favorite old tree, the one I reckoned had known my great-great-gram so well.
I found a patch of sunlight beneath and was just about to take a seat on the ground when I heard a voice calling my name. I looked up to find JoBeth Haines waving at me from the police station/library.
“Genuine! You got to see this!” she hollered.
A bit regretfully, I got up and headed her way. I’d been looking forward to some quality time with my kin, even if it was only in my imagination.
Holding the door open for me, JoBeth said, “I’m so glad I saw you there! You won’t believe it!”
“What is it?” I asked, only a little curious.
She pulled a magazine from behind the counter. “It’s the new Georgia History Today! It just came in!”
As a rule, I do enjoy a good Georgia History Today, but it wasn’t until I saw one of the articles listed on the cover that my heart gave a little flutter. “The Georgia MacIntyres: Wishing on a Star,” it said.
“What on earth—?” I asked, already turning the pages.
“Read it!” JoBeth urged me.
I won’t repeat the article word for word, but, boiled down, here’s what it said. Back in 1879, a Georgia astronomer by the name of Charlotte MacIntyre picked up a peculiar vibration on one of her instruments. She’d found a clump of stars that seemed to sing.
“Turn the page!” JoBeth said. “There’s more!”
Not long after Charlotte had discovered the MacIntyre Cluster—which is what she called it—her daughter Stella started granting wishes, crediting the stars with her power. In time, Stella became so famous that President Theodore Roosevelt called her to the White House to fetch him a wish.
It hardly seemed possible! One of my own relatives fetched a wish for a U.S. president? My mind boggled at the very notion!
“If that don’t take the whole biscuit!” I whispered.
“MacIntyre was your grandma’s maiden name, wasn’t it?” JoBeth asked.
I told her it was.
“You really should keep this, then.” She tapped the magazine. “A nice reminder of her, maybe.”
I said it was, and thanked her sincerely.
As I was leaving, JoBeth said to me, “You sure do have an extraordinary family, Genuine Sweet!”
An extraordinary family, I repeated to myself.
I nodded. “I reckon I do.”
With the magazine tucked snug under my arm, I went back home. Pa was passed out on the sofa. Even in my room with the door shut, I could hear his snoring.
It was a pretty, snowy Christmas holiday, and I spent it warm, thanks to a new program Penny Walton helped Jura and me get started at the electric company. The Empowerment Partnership, it was called. The “partners” were Rumpp County Power, SUBA, and everyone Penny could pester into joining. Once a month we all got together to find ways to make sure everyone’s electric bill got paid, whether they had the money or not. Sometimes we arranged work-for-power trades, other times we found donors. It wasn’t always easy, but it was a real comfort to know that nobody in Sass would ever go cold again.
Christmas-wise, I received more than my share of invitations to parties and dinners. And never in all my born days had I gotten so many presents! Even after I’d failed to make all the weather go away, I guess a number of people still looked on me kindly.
But gifts and invitations—and even good friends like Jura and Travis—didn’t make up for the fact that, when I came home at night, the place was usually empty. Even when Pa was there—well, you know—he wasn’t much in the way of company. In short, I was lonely for kin.
That Christmas Eve, Miz Tromp and I sat together on the bench swing in front of her place. Travis and Tom and Kip were inside watching a football game—the RNN’s first official broadcast.
“Ready for more marshmallows in that cocoa, Gen?” Miz Tromp asked me.
I liked how she’d taken to calling me Gen. It reminded me of Gram.
“Naw,” I said, fiddling with my ma’s old star necklace. I’d been wearing it a lot lately. “One more and it won’t be cocoa anymore, it’ll be marshmallow stew.”