A few months after Cooter Calvert got home from the army, he married his old girlfriend and later, with a little help from his father-in-law, he started a local newspaper.
After mulling it over, they named it The Elmwood Springs News. It was not very original, but the town was excited to have its own paper at last, and all promised to buy advertisements.
The first day Cooter opened his door for business, Ida Jenkins appeared in his office and said, “Well, Cooter, you’ll need a society columnist, and I’m here to volunteer my services.”
Cooter was not aware that there was any society in Elmwood Springs, but you did not say no to Ida Jenkins. Besides, she had already written her first column and had supplied her photo to be used at the top.
* * *
THE WHOLE TOWN’S TALKING
* * *
by Mrs. Ida Jenkins
Greetings to all! This week, the whole town’s talking about the magnificent soiree thrown by Mr. and Mrs. Swensen, owners of our very own Sweet Clover Dairy. The festive affair was in celebration of the third birthday of their lovely daughter, Miss Hanna Marie Swensen. When it comes to fashion and style, none can hold a candle to the Swensen mother-daughter duo. Hanna Marie was a perfect picture of “What does the well-dressed little girl wear?” in her darling frilly pink dress. Mother Beatrice was also lovely in a pale aqua knit frock, so flattering to her slim figure. Never saw such a proud poppa. As usual at any of the Swensens’ delightful get-togethers, anybody who was anybody was there. Elner Shimfissle, longtime friend of Mrs. Swensen’s, was also in attendance.
* * *
1949
At around six A.M., J. J. Ballantine, the caretaker, walked around the cemetery and placed an American flag on each veteran’s grave. It was only a small flag, but it meant a lot, especially to the boys who had been killed. They considered themselves to be grown men, but most were still young enough to enjoy the special attention.
Gene woke up early that day and was starting to get a little fidgety waiting for his family to arrive. He could tell by the sun that it must be around nine-thirty. Last year, they had brought his little girl, Dena, with them. He hoped they would bring her again.
Pretty soon, he began to hear cars driving into the cemetery, and he immediately recognized the sound of his father’s car, the same big black 1936 Plymouth he had driven forever. Gene heard it pull up to the curb and stop and then the sound of all the doors opening and slamming shut, and here they were. As always, his mother came first. His father held the rest back for a moment while she walked right to him and placed her hand on the white cross that stood above his head and said, “Here’s my baby.”
Gene could almost feel her hand as he had so many times as a boy. That cool hand that had soothed away his fears or made him feel better when he was sick, that hand like no other that told him that everything was all right. “I miss you, son,” she said. “I miss you, too, Momma.”
Now came Dad, looking a little older this year. Gene noticed a little potbelly starting, but he owned a bakery, so who could blame him?
And there was Aunt Elner. But where was Dena? He knew she always spent the summer with her grandparents. He was starting to worry, when he saw her come running from around the other side of the car, pulling his cousin, Norma, behind her. Norma was busy talking to some sandy-haired athletic-looking boy he did not recognize, when the little girl broke loose from Norma and ran toward him. He was surprised to see how tall she was getting. He figured she must have grown an inch since last year, and he was amazed at how much she looked like pictures of him at that age—the same white blond hair and blue eyes. Aunt Elner walked up behind her and said, “Here’s your daddy, honey. You can talk to him if you want to.” The little girl looked where Aunt Elner was pointing and seemed puzzled.
“Where do I look?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear you.”
She stood there while Gene tried his best to help. “Come on, honey,” he thought. “Say something. I can hear you, sweetheart.”
“Go ahead, honey, tell your daddy what a big girl you are,” urged Aunt Elner.
The little girl looked down at the grave, held out four fingers, and said, “I’m this many.” And it tickled Gene. Then she said, “I’ve got a kitten,” and then, “Why don’t you come home?”
Aunt Elner petted her head. “He would if he could, baby girl. But he loves you and watches over you every day.”
“That’s right,” Gene thought. “Tell her I wanted to come home.”
“Dena, don’t you want to tell your daddy you love him, too?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go ahead. Tell him.”
The little girl then leaned over and shouted into the grave as loud as she could, “I love you, Daddy!”
Gene had to laugh. He then heard his mother call out from the car for them to come help with the flowers and the rest of the things.
Katrina, who was enjoying seeing everyone, said, “Oh, Gene…she is so pretty.”
“Isn’t she? She’s going to be very tall, I think.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Gene was pleased to see that the basket of flowers they placed at the head of his grave was even larger than last year’s. They were not getting smaller, at least. His only fear was that he would be forgotten.
Suddenly, he noticed what a pretty girl his cousin, Norma, had turned out to be. After a moment, he recognized the boy Norma had brought with her. It was Macky Warren, whose daddy ran the hardware store, all grown up. Gene had taught him to swim when Macky was such a skinny little kid that he could hardly keep his swimming trunks on. Gene guessed Macky must be “the boyfriend” because Norma was gazing at him like a lovesick calf.
Gene dozed in the warm sun for a few minutes, but awoke again when he heard the trunk of his father’s car open. Then he saw his dad coming toward him, walking around with the picnic blanket, looking for a place to set it down, and finally choosing more or less the same spot he always did, just to the right of his son’s grave.