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JIM COULDN’T WAIT FOR THE Barkleys to open the post office on Monday morning. They saw him smiling as soon as they got out of the car.
“What happened? Why are you so happy? Did you find a lot of money?”
“I met the most wonderful woman on the planet. She’s a schoolteacher in Jasper. She said she used to live here in Blue Ridge.”
“Does this wonderful person have a name?”
“Yes, ma’am. Her name is Peggy Taylor.”
“That name doesn’t ring a bell, she must be one of the Taylor girls that lived on the hill behind the courthouse.”
“I’d like to take you both to McKinney’s Café for lunch to celebrate.”
They both laughed and said they’d go, but they would pay for their own lunch.”
“Oh, no. Please let me treat you.”
Reluctantly they agreed. When 11:30 arrived, he went to the back of the post office to get them for lunch saying: “It’s time to go.”
“Why so early?”
“I want us to get a good seat.”
Mike said: “I guess we better go before the boy busts a gut.”
They were the first customers in the café and took the table up front, in the corner. The view was the best in the room. Not only could they see everyone in the café but they could also see the people on the street. Mrs. McKinney, the owner, came over to take their orders and Mike joked with her about Jim’s new girl. It made him feel like he truly belonged. Then the door opened and an older, distinguished man dressed in a nice, well-tailored suit came in with a big, ugly black dog.
“Mr. Bob! You can’t bring that dog in here”— Mrs. McKinney reprimanded him.
“This dog goes where I go”— he stated.
“You’ll get me in trouble with the law”— Mrs. McKinney said.
“How about that stuffed eagle?”
“If you stuffed that dog no one would complain” — she said, only half kidding.
“You let me worry about the law. Just go and fix me some green beans and new potatoes. That’s your special on Monday, isn’t it?”
“Is there anything else?” — she said.
“I’ll order more when my son arrives.”
Just then another couple came in taking a table next to theirs. Just as the café settled down, in came a tall, thin man with carrot red hair. Jim had never seen so many freckles on anyone. The man started to sit down at Mr. Bob’s table when he noticed Mike. He came across the floor towards them.
“Ma and Pa Barkley. How’s your hammer hanging, ol’ man?”
“I’ll live.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“This is Jim Cole. Jim, this is Craig Foster” — Mike said.
“Have they told you who I am?”— Foster said.
When Jim heard the name, the information from the letter came rushing back. Anger from deep inside him almost blow up. He wanted to kill this man or at least lash out and throw him through the window.
“Oh, yes. You’re the one that was supposed to join the Army with Michael and then turned chicken.”
Craig’s face turned red. He stood silent for a moment then he came back with: “It’s a good thing I didn’t. Look what happened to Michael.” Turning quickly and not allowing a response, he walked away. Jim realized only after the encounter that what Foster said could have really hurt the Barkleys.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t worry son. It needed to get out” ? Mike said.
They ate their meal in silence. The joy was gone from the celebration all because of the arrival of Mr. Bob and Craig Foster.
The week after dragged by. He tried to fill the hours. In the afternoons he watched the children on their way home from school. However, they had changed their route to the other side of the street. It looked as if Mr. Bob had won the war. Not for long ? he thought.
As he watched the dog and its’ owner, really watched and noted all regularities, he realized they had developed certain habits, predictable, consistently so. He noted when Mr. Bob walked the dog, when he let him run free and any time the dog was outside for any reason or time of day. Definite patterns clearly emerged. It’s almost time... It’s almost time... Time for Mr. Bob to suffer a little pain, he thought. Yeah, a little pain.
Jim decided to delay no longer, time to get his supplies together. When Mike locked the post office window, he climbed the stairs looking for his list. He knew it was time to buy the boots, compass, raincoat or something to wrap his rifle, soon to be in his possession. He opened the hidden compartment under his bed and took out four twenties from the roll of money he had stashed when first arriving. This is what he was born to do.
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