Secrets at Dillehay Crossing -Chapter 4- The Old Town Square
After completing her rounds through Hickory Pines, Lilly returned to her office where she sank into her chair hoping to put the morning’s events into some sort of perspective. She stared out her window and gazed at Hawkes Pond. It’s surface was perfectly still; and it mirrored the sky above, both of them blue and shimmering. Lilly lost herself in the rays of sunlight dancing across the water, birthed from the midday sun; she imagined removing her shoes, dipping her toes into the pool’s cool water, and escaping on the ripples her toes had created. She closed her eyes and thought about her encounter with Frank, and she was unable to erase the image of the shirtless boy from her mind.
I wonder—what are the odds of two people seeing and hearing the same ghost at the same time? Was our shared vision a coincidence, a happenstance event? Is there REALLY such a thing as coincidence? Maybe Grammy’s right. Maybe there’s no such thing as coincidence or ghosts. Maybe none of it’s real; maybe it’s all just part of what Grammy calls my crazy imagination. But even as a child Lilly sensed forces and beings just beyond her reach. She believed in something else, something more—the invisible, almost magical connections between people and events she felt were always there, buried just beneath the surface. As Lilly matured, she adopted a belief in an everyday sort of mysticism—the inexplicable connection she often experienced with people, places, events, and the like; that almost eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence that was guiding the simultaneous collision of seemingly unrelated events. For Lilly, that simultaneity had a far deeper meaning—a reason and consequence beyond just mere coincidence that she’d come to trust. And in the case of her and Frank’s shared vision it was up to her to discover that reason.
“Miss Lilly! Miss Lilly!” Etta’s familiar, high-pitched voice interrupted Lilly’s train of thoughts. “Can ya’ hears me, Miss Lilly. I’s been a knockin’ at yer door, but ya duzn’t answer me.”
“Sorry, Etta. I was deep into my own thoughts.”
“While ya wuz makin’ your rounds, your husband called. I’s took a message. He say something about pickin’ up them cigars when ya goes into town to get them clothes.”
“Oh my gosh! I completely forgot. I best get a move on. Lilly snatched her purse from inside her desk and riffled through the purse’s contents until she found the map Nick had given her earlier that morning. She scurried out the door and drove towards Parker, a pastoral little town built atop a grassy hill overlooking a yellow prairie. At first glance, the town looked a bit weary; its buildings, built long ago, faced one another and were relics of another time. Each building was distinctive, though, borrowing this and that from the era in which it was built; and it made the place as delightful as a beloved grandmother’s quilt, every patch unique and as eye-catching as the one before.
Even the storefront signs were a hodgepodge, each bearing the name of the families who’d owned the shops for generations. Lilly made her way down the uneven, weathered, and cracked sidewalk until she found a building whose brick storefront bore the inscription: “Dusty’s, Established 1930.” She turned the tarnished doorknob on Dusty’s entryway; and as she closed the door, she heard the cowbells hanging from a leather strap jangle, announcing her arrival. Lilly lingered there, inhaling the store’s deep, rich leathery smell then strolled across its creaky wooden floor passing several mannequins dressed in jeans, western shirts, boots, and cowboy hats.
At the counter was an old woman, not the kind you pity with their old bones and feeble limbs, but the kind who could run a ranch if given half a chance. The woman stood tall and slim; her short salt and pepper hair was neat and likely styled with old fashioned brush rollers, the kind women slept in. She wore a loosely draped bandana around her neck, the kind that cowgirls wear; and her face was made up with discrete makeup except for her lips which were bright cherry red. If she were pale, her mouth would be garish, but against her sun-kissed skin it look rather striking. Although the woman was a stranger, Lilly felt an immediate connection with her.
“My name’s Dusty.” She extended her hand and shook Lilly’s.
Lilly took Dusty’s hand in hers; it looked like worn leather and felt like sandpaper, rough and unfinished, with soil just beneath the fingernails
“I’m guessin’ you’re Lilly Mason, right?” Dusty asked in a cheery, honeyed voice.
“Well, yes ma’am, I am. We’ve never met so how did you know who I am?”
“Ah, sweetkins, Nick dropped by this mornin’ and said you’d be coming in and to be on the lookout for a short but pretty lady with brown hair pulled into a ponytail.”
“Oh, that Nick!” Lilly’s face flushed a pinkish-red. “He’s the dearest man!”
“Darn tootin’! I’ve known Nick ever since he was a wee tyke. Even then Nick was just so kindhearted; and those blue eyes of his sparkle like Fourth of July fireworks. His folks, God rest their souls, always brung him into the store whenever they needed dry goods. Nick always rode that old hobby horse that’s sittin’ outside the front of the store. As a matter a fact,” Dusty continued without taking a single breath, “they bought his first pair of boots here. He was such a happy-go-lucky buckaroo…at least until his folks’ accident…tragic…just tragic that tornado was. It came through town while they was shopping for his birthday present, and they was crushed underneath the rubble. But ever since they passed away, he ain’t never been the same…kind of somber all the time. Dave and Relda, well they was just heartbroken losing their only child. Thankfully, they had Nick; and they done the best they could to raise him even though they was hurtin’ on the inside. Them Masons are tough folks and just downright good people, and I’m a guessin’ you’ve got that Mason spirit. I can see it in your eyes!”
“You’re awfully kind, Dusty. I hope you’re right; I do so want to be a true Mason.” Lilly gave Dusty a big hug. “Thanks for telling me about Nick’s parents. Knowing some of the Mason family history and struggles helps me understand them and, yes, even tolerate some of their little quirks—like why Nick won’t talk much about his parents and what happened to them. But I do wish he’d confide in me more.”
“That’s Nick, corkin’ up his feelings just like his granddaddy. Dave keeps his pain away from his heart, done that ever since his sister died. I think he still blames himself for what happened to her.
“Are you talking about Francine?”
“Yes. So, you know about Francine and what happened to her?”
“Uh, no. Not really,” Lilly said with flatness in her voice. “The only thing Nick told me was that Francine and her husband lived in that old dilapidated house along the banks of Dillehay Creek.”
“Well, there’s a lot more to that story. Gosh! Where shall I begin.” She looked away momentarily. “My daddy’s property was adjacent to the Mason property. So, me, Francine, and Dave played together growing up. I guess you could say that me and Francine was best friends. And that Francine was a sweetheart, a real gem. But she had not a lick of sense when it came to men and matters of the heart. So, I weren’t too surprised when Francine found herself unmarried and in the motherly way. Dave, being the older brother and all, felt responsible. He tracked down the low-life who’d gotten Francine pregnant and took a shotgun to the man’s head. Two days later that scoundrel married Francine, and they moved into that house and started farming that piece of land along Dillehay Creek. Francine died about six months later giving birth to their son. As I recollect, John was the baby’s name.”
“John?” Lilly asked, her eyes widening with curiosity. “Whatever became of John?”
“I don’t rightly know, sweetkins. I heard lotsa rumors about him over the years. Probably not a lick of truth to any of them rumors. What I can tell you for certain is that John was one of them breech babies; you know what they say about breech babies. They ain’t nuthin’ but bad seeds from the get go and act backasswards their entire life, if you know what I mean. Oh my, Lilly!” A sigh caught in Dusty’s throat. “Please forgive me. I’m rather loose-lipped sometimes. I’ve spoken ill of the dead, and I’ve gone and told you more than I shoulda. I best shut up about it all. Dave don’t take too kindly to folks talkin’ about John and that grifter of a dad that never did right in raising that boy.”
Dusty reached under the cash register and retrieved a box with Lilly’s name on it. “Nick came in this mornin’ and bought you a couple of things. He said he needed to make you into a cowgirl and a true Mason before the Mason’s July 4th shindig. I’d suggest you try ‘em on, though. Western clothes are cut a tad trimmer than city clothes.”
“Ah! That Nick—always full of little surprises!” Lilly opened the box; inside were a pair of western cut jeans, a leather belt, a red cowboy hat, and a red western-cut shirt with dark blue piping and white pearl buttons. She opened the note inside the box; it read: You’ll be the prettiest cowgirl at the shindig! Love, Honey Bear. Lilly scurried into the dressing room and slipped into the jeans and shirt. She placed the cowboy hat on her head and primped in front of the mirror. Yee-haw! she silently proclaimed. I really do look like a cowgirl, but… A small frown creased across Lilly’s forehead. Just like puttin’ on a ball gown and glass heels won’t make me Cinderella, puttin’ on this cowboy hat and wearin’ a western shirt won’t make me a Mason either.
“Come on out here and let me see you in your new duds. No need to be shy now!”
Lilly slowly opened the dressing room door. “Yeeeeeeehaw!” Dusty hollered. “You’re a genuine cowgirl now! But you’re gonna be needin’ some boots, don’t ya think? If you like I can find you a right purtee pair.”
“Thanks, Dusty, but Nana Relda’s got a pair of boots—red ones I think—that she’s loaning me for the shindig. Lilly returned to the dressing room and took another look at her reflection in the mirror. “You know, Dusty,” Lilly poked her head out the dressing room door, “I’m stopping at Relda’s on the way home to try on those boots. Maybe I should keep on my new western clothes. Are you okay with that?”
“Sure, sweetkins. That’ll be fine. Just gimme your city clothes, and I’ll put them in a bag for you.” Dusty took Lilly’s city clothes from her; wrapped them in tissue paper, and placed them in a sack. “That Relda. She’s the finest woman I know. She’s a real jewel, ain’t she?”
“Yes, she most certainly is. She’s been so gracious in welcoming me into the Mason family, and I can see her fine touch in raising Nick, can’t you?”
“Yep, I sure can. And I’ve seen firsthand how she’s handled Dave lo these many years. He’s a persnickety ol’ codger, full of pride, and mighty stubborn. Matter a fact, he’ll argue about most everything just to be arguing. Don’t you let him get under your skin, you hear me.” Dusty said with a knowing smile. “You’ll melt his heart. I’m sure of it. And, of course, I can always put in a good word for you. How duz that sound?”
“That’d be mighty nice, Dusty. I’ll take all the help I can get!”
“I reckon I’ll be seein’ you and Nick at the shindig?”
“I reckon so. I’ll see you then.”
Lilly said goodbye to Dusty and walked to the other end of the town square in search of the smoke shop and liquor store. When she reached the edge of town, she turned around fearing she’d missed the place. A short distance later she saw a timeworn sign hanging haphazardly on the front of a distinctive old building wedged between two taller buildings. Lilly stepped closer to the sign and squinted, her eyes finally able to discern the words. Spirits and Smokes, Established 1934, Hal Jenkins Proprietor. She pushed on the door, and the unfamiliar but sweet smell of tobacco and cedar greeted her. Although she didn’t know why, Lilly immediately loved the rich, dark smell of the place. She inched her way down a narrow aisle past walls of pipes and tables covered with jars of pipe tobacco and tins of chewing tobacco. Just above the counter along the back wall were shelves with bottles of hard liquor and boxes of cigars neatly organized in humidors.
From behind the counter, a wizened face peered out from under the brim of a dog-eared and faded fedora, which was the only thing on his otherwise bald and mottled scalp except for a sparse fringe of white hair. His eyes were heavily lidded and weighed down with wrinkled folds; and his face was craggy, not in that over worn out sort of way but in a way that tells of a life too hard. Yet, there was softness in his eyes and gentleness in his smile that told Lilly his life was also one well lived, full of laughter and kindness. When he spoke, Lilly expected the croak of old age in his voice; but his voice was strong and husky, and he was quite alert.
“What can I do for you, little lady?”
“I’m here to pick up some cigars, Cuesta-Reys, I think.” Lilly fumbled inside her purse for the cigar Nick had given her. “I have one in here somewhere.”
“No need. I know what Cuesta-Reys look like.” Hal climbed up a small step ladder and pulled down some boxes from one of the humidors. “The Masons are generally the only folks in town who buy Cuesta-Reys,” he said, laying the boxes on the counter in front of Lilly. So, I’m guessin’ you must be a Mason.”
“Yes, sir. I am. I’m Lilly Mason, Nick’s wife. I gather you’re Hal.”
“Guilty!” he said shooting her a grin. “Now I heard that Nick done gone and gotten himself hitched. The word around town is that he up and married some pretty city gal who works over at Hickory Pines.”
“Guilty as charged!” Lilly winked at Hal and wrinkled her nose like a rabbit.
“How many boxes of Cuesta-Reys will you be needin’?”
“Two boxes, please.”
“That’ll be $52, Mrs. Mason. You want me to put that on Nick’s tab?”
“Sure, if that’s what Nick normally does.”
“Yes, ma’am. It is. By the way, do you know this gent over at Hickory Pines. Goes by the name of Frank, Frank Stowe, I believe. I was fixin’ to make a delivery to him, but my truck’s on the fritz and won’t be fixed for a couple of days. He sounded mighty desperate over the phone, like he needed his cigars and whiskey yesterday. He’ll be mad as all get-out if I don’t make his delivery. So, I was a wonderin’ if…” Hal’s voice trailed off.
“Say no more, Hal. I do know Frank and need an excuse to drop by and see him. So, yes, I’ll be happy to make that delivery for you.”
“You’re a doll, Lilly!” Hal said with a smile in his voice. He sacked up Frank’s merchandise and handed it to Lilly. “Be sure and tell Mr. Frank that he can square up his bill with me when I make the next delivery. Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes, Hal, what is it.”
“I suppose you’ll be at be at the 4th of July shindig. So what are my chances of getting a dance with the pretty new cowgirl in town?” he asked with an impish grin.
“Hal, you’re such a flirt,” she said, tossing her ponytail with the turn of her head. “I’ll put your name on my dance card!”
“I’m counting on it.” A glimmer of laughter came into his eyes.
“Til then, Hal.” Lilly winked again and threw him a kiss as she left the smoke shop.
Lilly walked back through town thinking about Dusty and Hal. Despite Dusty’s chattiness and her old wives’ tales, she was good-natured and frank without being hurtful or ill-intentioned; and Lilly rather liked her. Hal possessed a certain type of elderly charisma that Lilly found charming. As she drove out of town, Lilly glanced in her rearview mirror at the rustic buildings in the old town square. Like the elderly for whom she had such an affinity, the buildings had character and substance and spoke volumes about durability, hope, and strength. Lilly delighted in the charm and flavor of the place and adored the people she’d just met. She also felt a connection to the place and couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger than her had brought her to this lovely town. It’s certainly no coincidence that I’m here, Lilly thought as she turned down Old Mill road and pulled into the entrance of the Mason property. I think I’m gonna like living here.
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