The town itself never became a glamorous depot but remained a quiet stop before one plunged into the mountains themselves. Most residents worked hard for a living, but a few enjoyed inherited wealth, Little Mim being one, which is why she paid for the flags herself. She thought if merchants hung the flags out it would create further color for the day, showing pride in the community. Not that residents of the small, unpretentious town lacked pride but rather, in that quiet Virginia way, they didn't speak of it. The surrounding countryside, dotted with apple orchards, drew tourists from all over the world, as did Albemarle County itself, laboring under the ghosts of Jefferson and Monroe, to say nothing of all the movie stars, sports stars, and literary lights who had moved there, enticed by the natural beauty of the place and the University of Virginia. As it was only an hour by air from New York City, some of the richest residents commuted daily in their private jets.
Crozetians, although part of Albemarle County, more or less ignored Charlottesville, the county seat.
Little Mim, a Republican, and her father, a Democrat, now ran the town together. He was grooming her as well as pressuring her to jump parties. So far, she had resisted.
The merchants adored her, not just because of the flags. Like her father, she had a natural flair for politics.
Lottie Pearson assisted Little Mim. Both women were five feet six inches, slender, and well-groomed. Since both favored bright spring sweaters, khaki slacks, and flats, the only way you could tell them apart from the back was that Lottie's hair was honey brown while Little Mim's was ash blond this week. Lottie was much in evidence throughout the week as she climbed on a ladder watering and inspecting the huge hanging baskets at each street corner. Like Fair, she wasn't thrilled about Harry escorting Diego Aybar but she put a good face on it. Little Mim was so busy preparing for the festival that she really hadn't the time to tell anyone what she thought even if she was so inclined. Little Mim, divorced, was beginning to feel lonely. Diego would have been a suitable escort for her, too.
The last task before the parade was hanging the bunting. Everyone pitched in, so the blue and gold colors streamed across Route 240 and Whitehall Road. Bunting hung from buildings. Blue and gold flags and streamers waved from people's windows. Blue and gold were the colors of the French army under Napoleon, or so the town felt. White and gold with the fleur-de-lis was the emblem of the Royalists, so there wasn't a fleur-de-lis in sight.
In addition to the big wrecker's ball crane, which the O'Bannon brothers used to carry the heavier items through town, they owned a smaller, second crane. Roger perfected the knack of appearing wherever Lottie happened to be, always using the excuse that he had a job to do. He asked her to be his date at the Wrecker's Ball, held the first weekend in May, but she put him off, saying she needed to get through the Dogwood Festival first.
Since she didn't give him a flat no, he felt hopeful. Sean told him to give it up, as did Don Clatterbuck, his fishing buddy. Roger swore he'd win her over.
By Friday night Harry crawled home. She'd womanned the post office by herself since Miranda had to go to the airport. She also thought Miranda and Tracy would have a lot to talk about, so she forbade Miranda from coming back to work. The irony was that Miranda wasn't a postal employee. Her long-deceased husband had been the postmaster and she helped out now to keep busy. When George died she drifted in and out of the post office through force of habit. Harry performed many small services for Miranda but felt she could never adequately repay the older woman's boundless generosity.
Determined to go to bed early, Harry slipped into bed by nine; Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, too.
Just as the animals fell asleep, Pewter murmured, “I have this feeling it's going to be a big, big day tomorrow.”
“The Dogwood Festival's always big.” Tucker rolled over on her side.
“Something more.” The gray cat closed her beautiful chartreuse eyes.
Mrs. Murphy, on her back next to Harry, turned her head up to look at Pewter reposing on the pillow. “Cat intuition.”
7
Saturday dawned bright and clear, the temperature at five-thirty a.m. being forty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. The redbuds opened in full bloom, although those in the hollows where it was cooler stayed the dark raspberry color before full flowering. The apple trees still had some blooms but the pear trees were finished, as were the peaches. Tulips and pansies filled gardens in town. But the glory, the highlight, the beauty of spring resided in the dogwoods, which fortuitously chose that exact day to open. The mountains were filled with wild dogwoods. Creamy-pink flowering trees dotted bright green lawns. White and pink dogwoods lined driveways. Everywhere one looked dogwoods bloomed, and to complete the perfection, the azaleas opened, too. Hot pink, soft purple, flaming orange, pure white, and radiant pink azaleas announced their presence heralding high spring in Virginia. The wisteria swaying from doorways and pergolas added lavender and white to the unbelievable color. Old ruins, smothered in wisteria, became a focal point for photographers.
Spring had arrived but not just any spring, spring in the Blue Ridge, the apotheosis of springs.
Harry smiled as she drove to her old high school at nine A.M. The parade would start at ten. Her concession to this task was to apply mascara and to iron her jeans as well as a crisp white shirt. A red crewneck sweater kept her warm. The temperature was fiftyish. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, old hands at the parade, had been groomed to perfection.
When Harry parked the old truck the temperature had climbed to sixty degrees. By noon she figured it would reach seventy degrees and stay close to that comfortable temperature throughout the day.
Despite the jitters, everyone was smiling as they lined up on the tarmac at Crozet High School. On a day like today not smiling was impossible.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter sat on a wooden milk crate placed in the bed of the truck. As Harry had parked by the head of the parade, they had the best view. Tucker couldn't stand not being with Harry so she tagged along at her human's heels.
“How do I look?” Reverend Jones held out his arms full-length, a blue and gold marshal's sash covering his chest.
“A million bucks.” She smiled. “Are you ready?”
“What do I do but wave?” The older man laughed.
Sean and Roger O'Bannon walked up. Roger, a touch shorter than his brother, had obviously just buzz-cut his sandy hair.
“Time?”
“You've got time.” Harry smiled at him. “Like your new haircut.”
“Make time.” Roger snapped his fingers, ever the younger brother, slightly rebellious. “Do you know this is the fifteenth year I've driven a float? Do I get a medal?”
“No, Roger. It means you're a glutton for punishment.” Harry laughed at him.
“Ever since I got my driver's license.”