Genuine Sweet Read online

  Maybe, I thought, they disguise themselves as stars and grant wishes.

  We sat down to eat around four. Things were a little uneasy to start, with Tom and Kip at the table, and at cross purposes. Miz Tromp was a fine hostess, though, and soon everyone was, well, politely unclenched. Plus, it turned out Kip was a jokester—his tales were real ripsnorters! All at once, it was plain where Travis got his hidden comedy streak. It was also plain why Travis might want to go to California.

  And considering the way Miz Tromp looked at Tom while they talked herbal medicines and alternative treatment retreats, it was pretty easy to see why she was in so much agony over Travis’s dilemma.

  As for me, I knew I had to content myself with enjoying Travis’s company now, for however long it lasted. Twice, while we ate, I poked Travis in the arm, just for the sake of feeling his warm skin under my fingertip. Both times, he didn’t look up at me but caught my finger in the crook of his own and gave me a tug.

  “I’d forgotten how small Sass was,” Kip said at one point. “How many people in town?”

  I was the only one who knew offhand. “Five hundred twenty-three last week. MaryLou Haines had twins.”

  “Do you know everyone by name?” he asked me.

  “Just about,” I replied. “A few folks like to keep to themselves.”

  “I’ve been wondering about those off-gridders, how they fared out there, with all the weather,” said Miz Tromp.

  All the weather was the name the town had unofficially agreed on for our overly wet fall and the recent unlikely pairing of snow and flood.

  “They get radio, don’t they?” Tom asked.

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “And TV, of course,” said Kip.

  Travis, Miz Tromp, and me laughed all at once.

  “What did I say?” Kip asked, smiling good-naturedly.

  “Nobody has TV,” Travis said.

  “Well, folks who have computers can get some of it,” I clarified. “And we do have two channels, kind of. The cooking channel and the static news channel.”

  “The static news channel?” Kip echoed.

  “Today in Washington—ssssssst,” Travis mimicked, “a large pair of pants—ssssssst. In weather—ssssssst. A bear! Hahaha!”

  “You’re kidding.” Kip was plainly horrified.

  “If you want to learn to braise turnips, though, you’re in the right place,” I told him.

  Kip shook his head as if our tale of woe had wounded his heart. It turned out he was some sort of media “seeding” guy. Which, if I understood it correctly, had something to do with planting big metal towers on pristine and scenic hills.

  We ate until our buttons popped and then some. Before long, it was late enough to start heading to Ham’s for the Cider Toast.

  “So, the whole town gets together to drink cider?” Tom asked as we walked toward Main.

  I shook my head. “Not just that. It’s a Thanksgiving thing. You’ll see.”

  Ham’s doors were flung open, and the front walk was lined with tables. In great kegs, there was apple cider and peach cider and a new thing that year, blueberry. There was sugared cider—very, very sweet—and Granny Smith cider for the folks who preferred theirs sour. There was even spike cider, as they called it, though the grown folk were keeping a close eye on that table, so Travis and I didn’t get a taste.

  By the time the crowd finished gathering, it was dark and getting chilly. I wrapped my hands around my paper cup and breathed in the spiced steam as deep as I could.

  “Let’s get started!” Handyman Joe called. “There’s a turkey sandwich calling my name.”

  “You can’t possibly be hungry!” his wife replied.

  “I’ll go first,” said Ham, clearing his throat. He held up his cup. “A toast! To the people of Sass. Neither snows nor floods shall keep us from the completion of our appointed, uh, turkey dinners.”

  A few folks groaned, but nearly everyone cheered before they drank.

  When I saw Tom toss back his cider in a single throw, I warned him, “Best take that in sips, or you’ll be up peein’ all night.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Ah.”

  “A toast!” shouted Dilly Barker. “To Starla MacIntyre Woods. She will be missed.”

  “Hear, hear,” came several voices in reply.

  “To Gram,” I whispered. “And to Ma.”

  Travis heard, and clinked cups with me before he took an especially large swig.

  Scree Hopkins waited the span of a whole two breaths before she cried, “A toast! To me and Micky Forks! We just got promised to be engaged!” She held up her hand and waved it wildly. I guess she must have had a ring on, but I couldn’t see it.

  An argument promptly started over in the Forkses’ corner of things.

  Sheriff Thrasher stepped up. “A toast! To a peaceful night. Right, folks?”

  There was some shuffling and some elbow nudging, and the Forkses calmed right down.

  “A toast! To our new crop of wish fetchers!” called Missus Fuller. “And to Genuine, who taught ’em!”

  “To Genuine,” a voice said softly in my ear. I turned to find Penny Walton standing there.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Miz Walton,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Happy. Free.” She took a deep breath of our country air. “Grateful to spend a holiday doing something besides worrying that it might be our last one together.” She nodded in Edie’s direction.

  “I’m real glad for you,” I said, and I meant it with all my heart.

  She gripped my hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry about your granny.”

  I gave her the brightest smile I could muster, hugged her, and watched as she drifted back to her kin.

  Several swigs later, Kip asked me, “So, what’s a wish fetcher?”

  I started to tell him it weren’t nothin’ (I had learned my lesson about keeping certain things private, after all), but JoBeth Haines—pretty as a picture in a green and gold party dress—stepped into the circle and said, “A toast!” She pointed her cup in Kip’s direction. “To new friends.” Then she blushed. Furiously.

  Kip’s eyes got wide at the sight of the librarian/dispatcher, and I was surprised to see his cheeks flare red, too. A few seconds passed before he managed to smile, lift his cup, and return, “To new friends.”

  After that, Kip didn’t care what a wish fetcher was. He and JoBeth floated together like magnetized motes of dust. Next thing I saw, they’d made their way to a nearby bench and—once the toasting was done—there we left them.

  My house was empty when I got home. I wasn’t surprised. Still, I left a plate of Miz Tromp’s goodies beside Pa’s bed before I went into Gram’s room and shut the door behind me.

  It was time, I’d decided earlier that day, to let some of her things go. There were all sorts of warm clothes in her closet, not to mention a whole chest of quilts that someone could make use of. I’d ask Jura to post them on the SUBA site.

  Slowly, carefully, I took everything from its place and set it on the bed. I cried a little as I boxed up Gram’s powders and such. I bawled like a baby when I folded her robe. In the end, I only kept three things. Gram’s wish cup. A stack of letters—most of them from folks who’d contacted my ma for wishes, back when. And a framed photo of Gram and Ma and me, taken when I was nothing more than a bump in Ma’s belly.

  I moved back into Gram’s room, my old room, that night.

  The place seemed awful empty.

  I dreamed of letters and notes, packages and papers. So many of them! Cascading down from the sky, flooding in through the windows. Some of it was my ma’s old mail, but there were other things, too. I picked an envelope off the floor. It was addressed to me.

  My eyes snapped open.

  A note from Gram! Pa said something about a note from Gram!

  In a flash, I was on my feet and tearing the house apart. I moved furniture and flung piles of Pa’s dirty laundry. I spilled out drawers and even checked to see if a l
etter got stuck somehow to their undersides.

  I went through every closet, every chest, every keepsake box. I even looked in the pockets of Gram’s winter coat. Nothing. Heartsick, I flung myself onto the couch.

  Something crunched beneath me.

  Cushions flew. And there it was, wedged between the pillows! A carefully folded slip of paper with my name on it.

  In Gram’s wobbly but beautiful cursive, she had written this:

  My Genuine Beauty Sweet,

  How proud I was when I got your call tonight! This thing you’re doing for Penny Walton—how gracefully you are coming into your own! You’re a true MacIntyre woman and the sort of wish fetcher I always dreamed you would become.

  Thank the stars, while I was busy being cautious and tight-lipped, you blossomed into a real courageous girl. One who does what’s right, no matter what her fretful old granny says. I reckon, in the end, you set a better example for me than I did for you. I’m so pleased for your mettle. You’ve taught me how to face providence more bravely.

  Now, if for some reason you don’t see me as soon as you might expect, don’t you worry. Everything’s taken care of here, and I mean that. I AM ALL RIGHT. Your only business is to be your beautiful self and, as I told you once before, to find your own way. All shall be well.

  I love you, Gen. So much.

  I’ll see you when I see you,

  Your Gram

  In a corner of the letter was a faint bit of silver where, I imagined, Gram’s hand had lingered.

  My gram was all right.

  24

  Rural News Network

  A FEW MORNINGS LATER, I WAS ROUSED BY A KNOCK on the front door. It was Travis.

  “Come on,” he said.

  “What? Is something wrong?”

  “Just come on.” He tugged at my arm.

  It was so cold out, his words turned the air to smoke, so I left on my pajamas and put something more presentable over them. Then a coat. Then my boots.

  “All right, now! What?” I demanded as I followed him out the door.

  He grabbed me tight by the hand and led me downtown. When we got there, let me tell you, there was quite a hooray going on.

  Penny Walton’s car with the big WALTON REAL ESTATE magnets along the side sat parallel parked in front of two empty storefronts. Penny herself was looking a bit bedraggled, but she nodded eagerly as she sipped from a HAM’S coffee mug, Travis’s pa speaking, well, at her is the best way to describe it. JoBeth Haines stood at Kip’s side, apparently explaining things when his communications lapsed into California-speak.

  But that wasn’t all. There were two TV vans and a whole mess of nicely dressed people milling about. They didn’t look like they’d had any more sleep than Penny, but they bustled around with a great deal of purpose. They folded their arms and looked meaningfully at the storefront. They pointed at the wires overhead and the abandoned phone tower on Cheegee Hill. They stood on the roof of Ham’s Diner, shouting into their cell phones and conversing with each other at the same time.

  Tom’s jeep was parked nearby, too. Him and Miz Tromp seemed to be walking in a big circle, right in the middle of the intersection of Main and Earl, talking something through. Sometimes he’d stop pacing and just turn around to look at her for a long time. Sometimes she’d grab him by the sleeve and wave her hands like she surrendered.

  While Travis and I looked on, Mayor Cussler’s pickup pulled up. He climbed out dressed in a suit and tie, which was startling, seeing as how I’d only ever seen him in jeans. He hightailed it over to Penny, JoBeth, and Kip.

  “What on earth is all this?” I asked Travis.

  “If everything goes well,” he said, grinning, “you’re witnessing the birth of the Rural News Network.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a scheme Kip made up—and I’m helping him,” Travis replied. “A TV channel that gets picked up direct by special satellite receivers. Real news, no static. We aim to build one in every small town, everywhere. And the headquarters is gonna be right here, in Sass.”

  “That’s huge,” I said.

  After my shock wore off, I realized: “That’s jobs! Here in Sass!”

  And another thing: “You’re gonna stay! Doesn’t that mean you’re gonna stay?”

  “Near as I can figure,” he replied.

  The Rural News Network. I shook my head. “I don’t understand how it happened.”

  “You don’t?” Travis pointed to Kip and JoBeth. They were standing awfully close, looking real cozy.

  I couldn’t help feeling a little aggrieved for Travis. The presence of his son, alone, wasn’t enough to bring Kip to Sass, but just add a lady friend to it—

  “It’s all right,” Travis said, as if he’d read my thoughts. “I’m figuring out who he is. I won’t let him hurt me.”

  I wasn’t sure it would be that simple, but I wished it were so with all my heart. And considering the smile on Travis’s face as he eyed the commotion, I couldn’t help being excited for him.

  “So what about your ma and Tom?” I pointed to the two of them, still pacing in the street.

  “Oh, he jumped the gun and said something about getting engaged,” Travis said. “She told him he was addled, but she ain’t exactly sent him away. I expect that’s what they’re bickering about now.”

  “Maybe he’s in a rush ’cause he’s afraid one of Kip’s TV people is gonna snatch her up. Give your ma her own cooking show. Make her a star.” I made little sparkle motions over my head.

  Travis laughed.

  I just stood there for a time, enjoying the look of him, of his smile.

  “I am glad you’re staying,” I said at last.

  Then he kissed me, all boyfriendly, but still real polite.

  And then we went over to see what we could do to help fetch the Tromps’ big wish.

  25

  Something Like a Family

  I RECKON WE’RE CLOSE TO THE END OF THE STORY—AT least the one you came to hear. As I said, I ain’t fetching wishes no more. I don’t know. Maybe I could if I really tried. Someday.

  Happily, there’s no shortage of wish fetchers in Sass now.

  As for Travis—though he has his fits and starts—most days he leaves his surly black pants and his angry black shirt at home. He works afternoons at the RNN and is the youngest TV executive east of the Mississippi. Having something worthwhile to do with himself—not to mention, ahem, a girlfriend and a sideline fetching wishes—seems to suit him fine.

  Jura and Sonny broke up the second week of December. It was a friendly sort of thing. Jura wanted to focus on SUBA and her college applications, and Sonny wanted to spend more time buddying up to Travis. I think he fancies himself a news anchor someday.

  Tom’s retreat center opened just last week. Penny Walton is his biggest investor, and Miz Tromp supplies all the herbal fixin’s.

  Tom and Miz Tromp are “seeing each other exclusively” (according to Miz Tromp), or they’re “practically engaged” (according to Tom). Meanwhile, JoBeth Haines and Kip Tromp actually are engaged, set to be married this summer.

  Pa still drinks too much. But he did get a part-time job sweeping floors at the RNN, so that’s something.

  Who else might you want to know about? Let’s see. Scree Hopkins and Micky Forks tried to run off and elope a couple weeks ago. Micky leaves for military school next week.

  So there you have it. Only two more scraps and we’ll have a quilt.

  Not long after Thanksgiving, I was by myself, reading, when a strange notion came to me. I simply knew I needed to take a walk.

  It was cold out, of course, being December, so I put on my heavy coat and one of Gram’s scarves—a handmade, shimmering white one that I’d always thought made her look so beautiful.

  Seeing as how I was alone in the house, there wasn’t anyone to say goodbye to on my way out.

  I walked along the creek for a while, following it until it bent like a hairpin. There it met up with Deer Run Way, whic
h took me toward town. It was a back road and a longish walk. I was a little lost in my thoughts when I suddenly found myself beside my favorite old tree, the one I reckoned had known my great-great-gram so well.

  I found a patch of sunlight beneath and was just about to take a seat on the ground when I heard a voice calling my name. I looked up to find JoBeth Haines waving at me from the police station/library.

  “Genuine! You got to see this!” she hollered.

  A bit regretfully, I got up and headed her way. I’d been looking forward to some quality time with my kin, even if it was only in my imagination.

  Holding the door open for me, JoBeth said, “I’m so glad I saw you there! You won’t believe it!”

  “What is it?” I asked, only a little curious.

  She pulled a magazine from behind the counter. “It’s the new Georgia History Today! It just came in!”

  As a rule, I do enjoy a good Georgia History Today, but it wasn’t until I saw one of the articles listed on the cover that my heart gave a little flutter. “The Georgia MacIntyres: Wishing on a Star,” it said.

  “What on earth—?” I asked, already turning the pages.

  “Read it!” JoBeth urged me.

  I won’t repeat the article word for word, but, boiled down, here’s what it said. Back in 1879, a Georgia astronomer by the name of Charlotte MacIntyre picked up a peculiar vibration on one of her instruments. She’d found a clump of stars that seemed to sing.

  “Turn the page!” JoBeth said. “There’s more!”

  Not long after Charlotte had discovered the MacIntyre Cluster—which is what she called it—her daughter Stella started granting wishes, crediting the stars with her power. In time, Stella became so famous that President Theodore Roosevelt called her to the White House to fetch him a wish.