3
Missing in Action
The July session of “Who’s Who in Cherico?” was well under way in the library’s drab little meeting room with Miss Voncille Nettles holding forth in her inimitable fashion.
“. . . and this is a photo of the Doak Leonard Winchester Family showing off the brand-new First Farmers’ Bank of Cherico building,” she was saying. “I’ll now pass it around for your perusal. Note especially the big white bows in the ladies’ hair. That was all the rage around the turn of the twentieth century. I know that from my research, of course, not because I was actually there.”
Everyone laughed and began eagerly inspecting the picture, while Miss Voncille looked on approvingly. Though approaching seventy, she projected the vigor of someone ten to fifteen years younger. Especially impressive was the resonance of her voice, even though she was not a large person. Whenever she made genealogical and historical pronouncements as she was now to her handful of followers, they always lapped them up as the gospel truth. Criticisms or disagreements quickly brought out the sharpness of her tongue, enabling her to live up to her prickly surname. Despite the short fuse, however, there were still traces in her face and in the way she carefully arranged her salt-and-pepper hair of the great beauty she had once been, making people all the more curious about her perennial spinster status. If nothing else, she remained the town’s most impeccably dressed woman with no place to go.
On this particular evening, Maura Beth had decided to join Miss Voncille and her loyal members—the Crumpton sisters and widower Locke Linwood—with the deliberate intention of recruiting for her book club. It would be easy enough, she reasoned, to chat with each of them over the fruit punch out of a can and store-bought sugar cookies they routinely trotted out for refreshments. In fact, she had already put a self-serving word in edgewise while ladling a plastic cup for Miss Voncille and was fully counting on closing the deal immediately after the adjournment.
All of a sudden, Mamie Crumpton was shouting about something, and Maura Beth was yanked out of the thoughtful review of her evening agenda.
“Why, Voncille Nettles, you take that back this instant. You simply must retract that outrageous statement. It is most certainly the lie of all time!”
As the older and decidedly overbearing maiden sister of one of Cherico’s wealthiest families, Mamie had already begun hyperventilating, heaving her ample bosom. Her detractors around town—and there were more than a few—had often conjectured that one of these days she was going to puff herself up so big during one of her tantrums that pricking her with a pin might just send her flying all over Cherico like a deflated Goodyear blimp.
The unassuming and far daintier Marydell Crumpton uncharacteristically joined the attack. “You made that up out of a whole lace tablecloth, Voncille Nettles, and everybody in this room with any knowledge of this town knows it!”
“See?” Mamie added, wagging a bejeweled finger. “You’ve upset my little sister, and you should know by now how hard that is to do!”
“Neither of you has to get so worked up and take everything so seriously!” Miss Voncille exclaimed, deliberately averting her eyes from her accusers. “This is just par for the course for you, Mamie. You haven’t changed in all the years I’ve known you!”
Maura Beth blinked in disbelief at the heated exchange, realizing she had not been paying close attention to Miss Voncille’s latest pronouncement. “Now, everyone, please calm down.”
“I have a right to be upset. Armadillos, indeed!” Mamie repeated, practically spitting out the words. “I’ve never heard such a ridiculous thing in my life. The Crumpton Family has been solvent and respectable from the instant we set foot on these shores. We would never have stooped to the activities you describe. So, once and for all, are you going to retract this incredible fabrication of yours or not? Really, I have no earthly idea what could have gotten into you!”
Miss Voncille folded her arms and turned up her nose at the challenge, just sitting there saying nothing.
“Very well, then. I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ ” Mamie declared, rising from the table with all the authority she could muster. “Come along, sister dear, we don’t need to be dignifying this with our presence any longer.” Whereupon the two of them huffed out of the meeting room, slamming the door behind them and leaving Maura Beth and Locke Linwood sitting in place virtually stupefied.
Miss Voncille finally broke the awkward silence. “Mamie Crumpton always has to have her way. She’s so pompous, and there’s this morbid side she’s had since we were girls in school together. That’s an incredible story in itself. Would you like to hear it?”
Maura Beth leaned in with all the poise she could muster. “Another time, perhaps. But I’m afraid I was daydreaming a bit when you revealed whatever it was in your lecture that got the Crumpton sisters so upset. So sorry. Would you mind repeating it?”
Miss Voncille shrugged. “I meant no harm. I just thought we could inject a little fun into one of these outings.”
“Well, then, please tell me all about the fun.”
“Oh, very well. After I was through talking about the Winchester Family, I said that I’d found an old newspaper article about Hyram Crumpton, their grandfather, opening up a business downtown that specialized in stuffed animals and other novelties like flower baskets made out of armadillo shells. I also said he had to do it because he’d previously gone bankrupt.” Miss Voncille was unable to suppress a giggle or two. “And, yes—I made it all up.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“Maybe I’ve gotten a little bored with ‘Who’s Who?’ after all these years. The words deadly dull come to mind,” Miss Voncille confessed with a sigh. But her tone was not particularly contrite, and she even managed to look a trifle smug there at the end.
Locke Linwood straightened his shiny silver tie and noisily cleared his throat to gain the floor. “Miss Voncille, I’d like to tell you something very important and of a personal nature, if you don’t mind.”
“Go right ahead, Mr. Linwood,” Miss Voncille replied, looking intrigued.
“Would you like some privacy?” Maura Beth put in, thinking on her feet.
Locke shook his head of thick gray hair emphatically. “Please stay right where you are, Miz Mayhew. I don’t mind you hearing this. It seems to be a night for speaking with abandon.”
He appeared to be gathering his thoughts and did not say anything immediately. Maura Beth could not wait to hear what was on his mind, noting the profound lines of displeasure creasing his face. She had never associated frowns with this lanky, distinguished man, as it was well-known to everyone that he and his late wife, Pamela, had been the happiest of married couples for nearly forty years. After her passing, he had surprised everyone by continuing to attend “Who’s Who?” by himself, but even then had never exhibited a hint of sorrow in his expressions.
“Miss Voncille,” he began at last, “my dear wife and I always enjoyed your diligent efforts to shed light on our family histories here in Cherico. No one could possibly be better researched than you are. We considered you the ultimate authority, and you know we didn’t miss many meetings. But I think this so-called joke of yours at the expense of the Crumpton family was in questionable taste, no matter what kind of boredom you say you’re going through. It was a complete disappointment to me.”
He paused for a moment and swallowed hard. “Not only that, but, well, things have been mighty lonely for me since my wife passed, and I was actually thinking of asking you out, believe it or not. I hope you don’t think that’s too forward, but there it is. Except that after your behavior tonight and the way you’ve just shrugged it off as if it was nothing, I realize I don’t really know you at all. You’re not who I thought you were. There now, I’ve gotten that off my chest.”
Miss Voncille’s face dropped noticeably, and she seemed at a loss for words for the longest time. Finally, though, she regained her composure. “Mr. Linwood, I’m not an easy person to surprise, but I have to admit you’ve just accomplished that.” She paused briefly to throw up her hands. “At any rate, it seems that you and Miz Mayhew are in agreement about my behavior. So perhaps I should just go ahead and apologize.”
Maura Beth reacted first, but not before finding the polite, formal exchange from the older generation a bit on the endearing side. Was she possibly witnessing the budding of a future romance? “Miss Voncille, I think it’s the Crumpton sisters who need your apology. If you lose them as members, you’ve gotten rid of two thirds of your following.”
“Yes, I realize that.”
“If you ladies will excuse me, then,” Locke said, rising from his chair and squaring his shoulders. “I think I’ll call it an evening.” He made his way slowly to the door, turning back at the last second with a gentlemanly bow. “But, Miss Voncille, I want you to know that I don’t discourage easily. Despite what happened tonight, I fully intend to be here for the next meeting.”
“Another surprise! What am I supposed to make of all that?” Miss Voncille exclaimed after Locke had left the room. But Maura Beth could sense the false bravado in her tone.
“We could talk about it, if you like. Would you care to have a heart-to-heart over more punch and cookies?”
Miss Voncille’s reply came only after a great deal of fidgeting with the notes she had prepared for the meeting, as if they would somehow acquire some sort of magical powers and tell her what to do. “Oh, why not? Getting things off your chest seems to have worked nicely for Mr. Linwood.”
Maura Beth waited as patiently as she could, seeing that Miss Voncille was having some difficulty getting started, but finally broke the ice herself. “I hope you regard me as more than just a librarian by now. I know six years isn’t that much history between us in the grand scheme of things, but I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener. But first, let’s keep our energy levels up.” So she headed for the refreshment table and poured them each another cup of red punch with maraschino cherries on the bottom, brought back a couple of cookies wrapped in paper napkins, and the exchange began in earnest.
“Locke Linwood was right when he said he didn’t really know who I was. He’s in good company because very few people know what I’m about to tell you. I can sum it all up in two words, though,” Miss Voncille explained after nibbling a cookie and sipping her punch. “Frank Gibbons.”
“Frank Gibbons? Who is he?”
“Only the love of my life,” Miss Voncille explained. “Today’s been rough on me. It’s been forty-five years since Frank literally dematerialized. I should have known better than to schedule a meeting of ‘Who’s Who?’ with that so heavy on my mind lately. It comes and goes, of course, but what’s worse is that I took it all out on the Crumpton sisters and their money and haughty ways. But I still shouldn’t have lashed out at them. I’m bigger than that.”
Maura Beth put on her most sympathetic face and lowered her voice accordingly. “So tell me more about this man disappearing into thin air.”
“Well, no. You misunderstand. You see, he was a soldier who lived over in Corinth. My parents didn’t approve because they said he was from the wrong side of the tracks. It was true that his family didn’t have a lot of money or social position, but that didn’t mean a thing to me. I was madly in love. Still, very few people here in Cherico even knew this little affair was going on because my parents wanted it like that. From the very beginning, they said they knew it would never last. That would turn out to be the cruelest thing they would ever say to me, and I never forgave them for it.” Miss Voncille broke off for a few moments for another swallow of her punch.
“Frank had just introduced me to his family over the Christmas holidays back in 1967. They were as sweet as they could be to me, even though I knew there would be serious in-law problems down the line. Nevertheless, we fully intended to get engaged, no matter what. But in January, Frank was deployed to Vietnam, and we had to put everything on hold. I don’t know how well you remember your history, but that was January of 1968. Shortly after he arrived over there, the North Vietnamese launched the Tet Offensive, and Frank’s company ended up right in the middle of it.”
“As I matter of fact, I do know about the Tet Offensive, even if I wasn’t around,” Maura Beth explained. “We librarians are always getting refresher courses in everything under the sun when we help students research their school reports. The teachers never stop assigning papers on the Vietnam War, and we’re open much later than the school libraries are. Anyway, I know there were a lot of casualties among our troops during that terrible period. So are you telling me Frank was one of those?”
Miss Voncille absent-mindedly snapped her cookie in two, briefly staring down at what she’d done in astonishment. When she looked up, she picked a spot on the wall above Maura Beth’s head and spoke to it. “It was the worst thing that can happen. He was officially declared MIA, which doesn’t allow for closure. Of course, I never got it. He’s still MIA all these many decades later. He was just gone, and no one knew where to find him. I kept in touch with his mother until she died, but there was no further word.
“Of course, there was a memorial service for him over in Corinth, which I sneaked off to when the time came. But it just wasn’t the same as putting his actual remains to rest. You might not think that’s such a big deal, but, believe me, I’m sure it would have helped me heal. Meanwhile, I busied myself with my school teaching until I retired and then took on all this genealogy research after that and . . . well, here we are sitting side by side, sipping punch and discussing it all as ancient history.”
“I’m so sorry about Frank,” Maura Beth said, shaking her head slowly.
Miss Voncille brushed away a few cookie crumbs from the palm of her hand with her napkin. “Sometimes, just when I think I’m really over him, something like this bubbles up to remind me I’m not. I mean, like making up a lie about someone skinning armadillos for a living. Of course, those Crumpton sisters have truly annoyed me beyond belief over the years. Mamie, in particular, has managed to make it very clear that my having to earn a living as a schoolteacher practically made me a peasant in her eyes. For that reason alone, I think she had my rude nonsense coming to her. Maybe that will help you understand what I did this evening a little better.”
“Just between the two of us,” Maura Beth confided, leaning in, “there have been times when Mamie Crumpton has walked into the library and treated me like a servant—ordering me to get a book off the shelf for her without so much as a ‘thank you’ later.”
Miss Voncille started nodding compulsively. “That’s Mamie in a nutshell—emphasis on the ‘nut.’ As far as I can tell, all that money of hers has insulated her from the hard knocks most of us receive in life—such as what happened to me and Frank.”
“Well, I haven’t experienced your level of pain,” Maura Beth said, her voice wavering a bit. “But these lost loves are tough. I got jilted at LSU by a South Louisiana boy named El-phage Alphonse Broussard, Jr. We dated for three years, and I was convinced Al was going to ask me to marry him. Once, he even joked about having a gigantic wedding ceremony on the fifty-yard line of Tiger Stadium with Mike the Tiger in his cage roaring his approval right next to us. Instead, he suddenly made a big deal out of whether or not I’d convert to Catholicism before the ceremony. When I said no, he broke things off very abruptly. It made me suspect there was someone else waiting in the wings, and he was just using that as an excuse. He’d been so indifferent on the subject of religion before. Why, he didn’t even like putting on a costume and going to Mardi Gras parades to catch beads and doubloons, which is a complete betrayal of the culture down there. Believe me, college kids live for it. And . . . I’ve been a little skittish ever since.”
“But you haven’t remained missing in action like I have, I hope?”
“Oh, my girlfriend, Periwinkle Lattimore, keeps an eye out for me when someone she thinks I might be interested in wanders into The Twinkle. She even takes pictures with her cell phone on the sly and sends them to me. The problem is, we don’t exactly have the same taste in men. After all, she’s almost forty, and I’ll be thirty in two years.”
Miss Voncille arched her eyebrows and managed a wry smile. “You say that as if you don’t have most of your life ahead of you—although I will admit the pickings are slim here in Cherico.”
Maura Beth felt the tension that had filled the room earlier quickly draining away now, and she decided to resume pursuit of her original mission. “Unfortunately, you’re right. By the way, I’d like to know what you thought of my Cherico Page Turners. Maybe you could join us? You’ve probably spotted the sign-up sheet by the front desk. I was thinking that with all these tempers flaring in ‘Who’s Who?’ maybe you could give genealogy a rest for a while and try something a little different while everyone cools off.”
Miss Voncille closed her eyes for a brief second trying to remember. “Books and potluck? Was that the gist of it?”
“Essentially. But we thought we would concentrate on Southern female writers in the beginning and maybe bond with each other in the process.”
“I don’t know if that sort of gaggle would work out for me. I’m used to running the entire show.”
“Then what about this?” Maura Beth continued, not willing to let her wiggle off the hook so easily. “Weren’t you intrigued by what Mr. Linwood said to you? I mean, the part about asking you out. I’m sure it took us both by surprise.”
“At last . . . we get around to that.” Miss Voncille let the statement just sit there for a while before moving on. “The truth is, I’m flattered. I had no idea he was thinking along those lines. He was always a man of few words, holding his wife’s hand the way he did and letting her do all the talking. As for myself, I’ve blocked out contemplating male companionship over the years. That’s what lack of closure will do for you.”
“It’s very fortuitous that you’ve brought up the concept of closure,” Maura Beth explained, deciding not to beat around the bush any longer. “Even if I mean closure in an entirely different context.” Then she told Miss Voncille everything she had also shared with Connie McShay about the disquieting ultimatum from the City Council. “I realize you have other options besides holding your meetings here, but I wanted you to know what could possibly happen in just a few short months. Does Cherico really want to be without a library?”
Miss Voncille looked and sounded distressed. “I’ve never cared for the current crop over there at City Hall. Actually, the only one that matters is our very own banana republic hotshot, Durden Sparks. You’re originally from Louisiana, aren’t you?”
Maura Beth said she was.
“Well, Durden fits the Huey Long model of governance from down your way. Or maybe he’s more like Edwin Edwards was with those flashy good looks. I taught Durden in junior high, and he was so conceited and full of himself the way he’d stand up in front of his fellow history students and give an oral report that sounded like he was being nominated for President of the United States at a political convention. It was all I could do to keep from giving him an ‘A’ in Demagoguery. These days, of course, I can name you scores of silly women who vote for him time after time just because he makes them fantasize and swoon. Not me. My Frank wasn’t all that handsome, but he was brave and he stood for something. That’s my definition of a man.”
“Well, then, there’s your incentive. Why don’t you sign up and show Councilman Sparks and his cronies that they just can’t do whatever they please?” Maura Beth continued, proceeding full speed ahead now. “And not only that, since you’re a woman who likes to take charge, why don’t you consider inviting Locke Linwood to accompany you to the first meeting? He’s already surprised you. Maybe you could surprise him.”
Maura Beth saw she had struck a responsive chord when Miss Voncille actually seemed to be blushing. “Very well, then. You’ve convinced me. I’ll become an official Cherico Page Turner.” Then she suddenly turned thoughtful. “As for Mr. Linwood . . . I don’t want to rush into that one. I think he’s looking for a different version of me. I’ll have to sleep on it.” The next second she was glancing at her watch and rolling her eyes. “It feels like it ought to be later than it is, but then, I ran everybody off tonight, didn’t I? It was definitely not my most successful lecture, I can assure you.”
Maura Beth reached over and patted her hand warmly. “Oh, I don’t know. First, I have to thank you for joining my little club. And then, I think you and I got to know each other a lot better after all this time. Locke Linwood hasn’t really gone anywhere, and I’m willing to bet the Crumpton sisters will come back into the fold with a little diplomacy on your part.”
“Got a delicious recipe for crow?” Miss Voncille quipped, gathering up her notes and photos and tucking them into the folder she’d brought along.
“Come on,” Maura Beth replied, chuckling as she dangled her impressive collection of keys before them. “We’ll sign you up and then close down together.”
It was just past nine when Maura Beth walked through the door of her cozy one-bedroom apartment on Clover Street and collapsed on the rust-colored living room sofa her parents had shipped to her three Christmases ago from their hometown of Covington, Louisiana. It’ll go with your hair when you sit on it, her mother had written on the card that had accompanied it.
Actually, it was a pretty close match. Auburn, whiskey, or rust—those were the adjectives that had been used most often by the admirers of Maura Beth’s hair. But she herself had thought, rather playfully at times, that her mother’s sentiments weren’t particularly grammatical. Which was she supposed to sit on—the sofa or her hair?
Whatever the case, she sometimes enjoyed entertaining herself with the question for lack of anything better to do after coming home from work. Tonight, she was happily remembering the last thing Miss Voncille had said to her as they were walking under the portico of the library into the steamy July evening air. “Your Cherico Page Turners are no longer missing in action! Miss Voncille Nettles, reporting for duty!”
They had both laughed, waved good-bye, and headed toward their cars down the street.
Back on the sofa where her hair had blended nicely into the fabric of one of the big cushions behind her, Maura Beth suddenly realized that all those cups of fruit punch had coated her throat with sugar. She needed a nice glass of ice water, so she jumped up and headed toward the fridge and the big pitcher she always kept inside on the middle shelf.
The phone rang on the way over, startling her, but she reached the crowded kitchenette counter soon enough. Whoever was on the other end of the line opened the conversation with an enthusiastic, “Guess what?”
Maura Beth immediately played along, easily recognizing Periwinkle’s down-home voice. “And hello to you, too. Don’t tell me. You have another picture of a person in pants for me. Or is it another set of twin cowboys passing through from Dallas on the way to become country singers in Nashville? One for you, and one for me.”
Periwinkle produced her usual hearty laugh. “Even better. Someone signed up for your book club tonight over here. She just left—in fact, we closed the place down together we had so much fun chatting. You won’t believe who it is!”
“Enough guessing games,” Maura Beth said. “Just tell me.”
“Okay, here goes. It’s Becca Broccoli!”
Maura Beth frowned immediately. “Who?”
“Surely you’ve heard of her. Becca Broccoli of radio fame? Haven’t you ever listened to her show on WHYY?”
“Periwinkle, I don’t listen to the radio or even watch much television,” Maura Beth said, growing slightly impatient. “I’m always curled up on my sofa reading the free galleys all the publishers send us librarians. How do you think they get the buzz going for their new writers? We’re their foot soldiers in spreading the word.”
“Never mind that. This is exciting news. Becca Broccoli has a cooking and recipe show on local radio—how do you think I get some of my best ideas for The Twinkle menu? I listen to her faithfully every morning.”
Maura Beth mulled things over, still somewhat puzzled. “Cooking on the radio? Not exactly a visual medium. And what’s with the name Broccoli? That can’t be real, can it? Is she one of those vegans or vegetarians?”
There was the faint sound of paper rustling, and then Periwinkle explained. “I’m holding the sign-up sheet in my hand right now. I didn’t know this before, but Becca’s real name is Mrs. Justin B-R-A-C-H-L-E. She told me tonight over her bread pudding that since her name was pronounced like broccoli, she decided to go ahead and capitalize on it. Thus was born The Becca Broccoli Show, weekday mornings at seven-thirty. Don’t you realize what this means for your club?”
“She can review cookbooks for us?” Maura Beth ventured, unable to resist.
“Seriously, now. Think about the publicity angle, girl. She can mention the club over the radio whenever she has a mind to. She has a huge audience. You’re a bit slow on the uptake tonight!”
Maura Beth briefly debated whether to mention all the hoopla at the “Who’s Who?” meeting but thought better of it. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. But I’ve got a sign-up myself at this end. Miss Voncille Nettles of ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’ is on board. So now we’ll have at least four people for our organizational meeting next week. And if you could find a way to join us—”
“Like I said before,” Periwinkle interrupted, “I just don’t have the time, honey. Not to read books and run the restaurant six days a week, too. Just let me hand out flyers here at The Twinkle and talk you up that way. Reading recipes is more my speed. Anyway, you got you a good one in Becca Broccoli, and who knows how many more’ll eat at The Twinkle and end up in your club?”
“Thanks, Periwinkle,” Maura Beth said. “You really are my eyes and ears, even without your cell phone camera.”
An hour later, Maura Beth was propped up in bed against her purple pillows, smiling down at her wiggling, freshly painted, pink toenails. “You are such a girlie girl sometimes, Maura Beth,” she said out loud, pouting her lips playfully.
Anyone surveying her bedroom would have thought so. She had changed the nondescript wallpaper she had inherited to a lavender floral design, and her solid lavender bedspread picked up the theme. What little money she had managed to put aside—with significant help from her parents, of course— had been spent on the brass bed, which was the centerpiece of the room. Altogether, it was an environment that had yet to welcome its first male visitor, and Maura Beth wasn’t particularly happy about that.
Before turning out the lights, she decided to open the top drawer of her night stand and retrieve her journal. She had been keeping it off and on since her freshman year at LSU, and whenever she needed a boost of any kind, she would trot it out and turn to page twenty-five. Tonight was one of those nights.
It read:
THREE THINGS TO ACCOMPLISH
BEFORE I’M THIRTY, PLUS A P.S.
1. —Become the director of a decent-sized library (city of at least 20,000 people).
2. —Get married (but not out of desperation).
3. —Have two children, one of each (natural childbirth—ouch!). P. S.—Hope one of the bambinos has red hair. (We’re such a minority!)
Maura Beth gingerly rubbed the tips of her fingers on the page and slowly closed the journal. Then she put it away, sighing resolutely. Would any of those things ever happen, even past thirty?