Read Online The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story by Robert Weverka - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Weverka
Ads: Link
don’t, Mrs. Claybourne. I really don’t want the cream puffs.” He put his napkin back on the tray. “And I’ve got lots of things to do today, so I think I’d better get started.”
He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. But for an instant she looked startled. Then her smile quickly returned. “How selfish of me. I sometimes forget how much providing for that big family of yours must take. I’m sure you must be the busiest man in the whole county, Mr. Walton.”
“Well, not quite, Mrs. Claybourne.”
She moved toward the door with him. “Will you be going past the post office on your way home, Mr. Walton?”
“You mean Ike’s store? Yes, I reckon I will.”
“I wonder if you would be good enough to mail some letters for us. Stuart Lee completely forgot them when he left this morning. I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy. But they say if you want something done, give the job to the busiest man around.”
“I’ll be glad to take them, Mrs. Claybourne.”
“I would appreciate it. I’ll give them to Dewey for you. And do give my best to Mrs. Walton.”
After she glided away toward the front of the house, he went to the kitchen.
Dewey had the whole sink full of silver now, moving it from one side to the other as he polished it. As far as John could tell, both sides looked clean and sparkling.
“Got a big party comin’ up, Dewey?”
The old man laughed. “No, just doin’ my regular polishin’, Mr. Walton. Rain or shine, party or no party, the silver gets polished every week. Ain’t been no parties around this house since long before Mr. Claybourne passed over. But this ol’ silver gets polished anyhow. I take it all down from the shelf, give it a good shine and put it all back again. Fact is, most of it hasn’t been used in years.”
John looked at the array of trays and goblets and candleholders, and then saw an equal supply in a walk-in closet next to the pantry. He smiled. “They ought to melt it down into silver dollars.”
“If somebody did that, I don’t reckon they’d even miss it, Mr. Walton. And it would sure save me a lot of work every week.”
John laughed and got his tools out. Now that he knew exactly what had to be done, the job wouldn’t take long. He pulled the refrigerator out and loosened the motor-mount bolts so he could get in behind it.
“You reckon Stuart Lee’ll be comin’ home pretty soon, Dewey?”
“Oh, that’s not likely, Mr. Walton. That boy, he goes racin’ all over the country with that Miss Weatherby. Lord, I’d just like to have the money he spends on gasoline.”
“So would I, Dewey.” While he worked, John thought about Mrs. Claybourne and the cream puffs Stuart Lee brought up from Richmond. It was strange how people spent money. And all that silver they never used. And the Packard roadster. But as the old saying went, “Easy come, easy go.”
There were several versions of how the Claybournes originally got their money—none of them very flattering. Apparently most of it came from old General Harlan McKelvey, whose noble portrait stood over the fireplace. The most frequently told story was that after the Civil War he worked with carpetbaggers from the north, and through some questionable legal tactics, took over a number of cotton plantations in South Carolina and Georgia. From there the McKelvey empire expanded into banking and cotton speculation, and somewhere along the way became respectable. There were plenty of families like that in the South, John supposed. There were plenty of families like that all over the country. Sometimes it seemed like all the great fortunes in the world got started with some kind of larceny. When you thought about it, maybe it wasn’t so surprising the country was in such bad shape.
Dewey was gone when John finished. The silver was all polished and standing neatly on the closet shelves, and a packet of letters was resting on the sink.
John got the refrigerator back in place. He tossed his
He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. But for an instant she looked startled. Then her smile quickly returned. “How selfish of me. I sometimes forget how much providing for that big family of yours must take. I’m sure you must be the busiest man in the whole county, Mr. Walton.”
“Well, not quite, Mrs. Claybourne.”
She moved toward the door with him. “Will you be going past the post office on your way home, Mr. Walton?”
“You mean Ike’s store? Yes, I reckon I will.”
“I wonder if you would be good enough to mail some letters for us. Stuart Lee completely forgot them when he left this morning. I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy. But they say if you want something done, give the job to the busiest man around.”
“I’ll be glad to take them, Mrs. Claybourne.”
“I would appreciate it. I’ll give them to Dewey for you. And do give my best to Mrs. Walton.”
After she glided away toward the front of the house, he went to the kitchen.
Dewey had the whole sink full of silver now, moving it from one side to the other as he polished it. As far as John could tell, both sides looked clean and sparkling.
“Got a big party comin’ up, Dewey?”
The old man laughed. “No, just doin’ my regular polishin’, Mr. Walton. Rain or shine, party or no party, the silver gets polished every week. Ain’t been no parties around this house since long before Mr. Claybourne passed over. But this ol’ silver gets polished anyhow. I take it all down from the shelf, give it a good shine and put it all back again. Fact is, most of it hasn’t been used in years.”
John looked at the array of trays and goblets and candleholders, and then saw an equal supply in a walk-in closet next to the pantry. He smiled. “They ought to melt it down into silver dollars.”
“If somebody did that, I don’t reckon they’d even miss it, Mr. Walton. And it would sure save me a lot of work every week.”
John laughed and got his tools out. Now that he knew exactly what had to be done, the job wouldn’t take long. He pulled the refrigerator out and loosened the motor-mount bolts so he could get in behind it.
“You reckon Stuart Lee’ll be comin’ home pretty soon, Dewey?”
“Oh, that’s not likely, Mr. Walton. That boy, he goes racin’ all over the country with that Miss Weatherby. Lord, I’d just like to have the money he spends on gasoline.”
“So would I, Dewey.” While he worked, John thought about Mrs. Claybourne and the cream puffs Stuart Lee brought up from Richmond. It was strange how people spent money. And all that silver they never used. And the Packard roadster. But as the old saying went, “Easy come, easy go.”
There were several versions of how the Claybournes originally got their money—none of them very flattering. Apparently most of it came from old General Harlan McKelvey, whose noble portrait stood over the fireplace. The most frequently told story was that after the Civil War he worked with carpetbaggers from the north, and through some questionable legal tactics, took over a number of cotton plantations in South Carolina and Georgia. From there the McKelvey empire expanded into banking and cotton speculation, and somewhere along the way became respectable. There were plenty of families like that in the South, John supposed. There were plenty of families like that all over the country. Sometimes it seemed like all the great fortunes in the world got started with some kind of larceny. When you thought about it, maybe it wasn’t so surprising the country was in such bad shape.
Dewey was gone when John finished. The silver was all polished and standing neatly on the closet shelves, and a packet of letters was resting on the sink.
John got the refrigerator back in place. He tossed his
Similar Books
