"Pewter, what a good kitty." Harry petted her. She went outside to check the horses, finished up her chores with fading light, and went to bed, glad she wasn't forced to relive old times at dinner.
22
The phone rang at the post office at seven-thirty A.M. just as Rob Collier, the delivery man from the main post office on Seminole Trail, dropped off two bags of mail.
"Sorry I'm late. Fender bender at Hydraulic Road and Route 29." He tipped his hat as he jogged back to the truck.
Mrs. Hogendobber answered the phone as the cats dashed to the mailbags. "Crozet Post Office. Mrs. Hogendobber speaking."
"I think movies were better in our day," Tracy replied on the other end. "That movie last night was all special effects. Was there a story?"
"Not that I could decipher."
"The best part of the movie was sitting next to you."
"You flatterer." She blushed and winked at Harry.
"I'll stop by on my way to Staunton. Harry left me a note this morning thanking me for the washer and leaving me five dollars for fixing it. You tell that girl she's got to learn to let people do things for her."
"Yes, Tracy, I'll try, but a new voice might get through. See you later."
"He's still got a crush on you," Harry teased Miranda, as she untied the first mailbag to the delight of Mrs. Murphy, who wriggled through the opening.
"Isn't paper the best?" The cat slid around in the bag, which was about three-quarters full.
"Tissue paper is better but this isn't bad." Pewter squeezed into the second mailbag.
"Paper? I don't get it." The dog shook her head, retiring to the small table in the back upon which Mrs. Hogendobber had placed a fresh round loaf of black bread, a damp dish towel over the top of it. The aroma filled the post office. Freshly churned butter in a large covered glass dish sat next to it.
"Come on, Miss Puss, out of there." Harry reached in and grabbed Mrs. Murphy's tail. Not hard.
"Make me." Mrs. Murphy batted away her hand, claws sheathed.
"You're a saucy wench this morning." Harry opened the bag wider.
Mrs. Murphy peered back, eyes large in the darkened space. She burrowed deeper into the mail. "Hee hee." Only it sounded to human ears like "kickle, kickle."
"Murphy, cut it out. You're going to scratch the mail. Federal property. Just think. You could be the first cat convicted of tampering with the mail. Federal offense. Jail. I can see the headlines now: Catastrophe."
"Corny," the cat meowed.
"I can't get Pewter out either." Miranda bent down a bit more stiffly than Harry, but she'd been gardening on her knees for the last few days, too.
"I can do it." Tee Tucker bounded over and bit, gently, first the large lump in one bag and then the larger lump in the other.
Two cats shot out of the bags as though shot out of cannons. They whirled on Tucker. After all, no human had jaws like that.
"Charge!" Mrs. Murphy ordered.
She leapt onto Tucker's back. Tucker rolled over to dispense with that, but when she did, Pewter jumped on her belly. The dog loved it, of course, but this was accompanied by furious growling. A few tufts of fur floated in the air.
As Pewter clung to Tucker's white belly, Mrs. Murphy grabbed the corgi's head, literally crawling on top of her, biting her ears.
"Uncle!" the dog cried out.
"You don't have an uncle." Mrs. Murphy laughed so hard she fell over, so now Tucker could put the cat's head in her mouth.
Pewter yelled, "That's cheating!"
"No, it's not. Two against one is cheating." But of course the minute Tucker said this she released her grip on Mrs. Murphy, who escaped.
"The jaws of death," the cat panted.
They'd all three exhausted themselves, so they fell in a heap between the mailbags.
"Crazy!" Miranda shook her head.
The front door swung open and Big Mim, wearing a flowered sundress and a straw hat, strolled in. "Don't worry." She held up her hands. "I know you haven't sorted the mail yet. Miranda, I've hired Dan Wheeler to play at your reunion. Okay?"
Miranda walked over to the divider. "He'll add so much to the event but we can't afford him. We've got the tiniest treasury."
Mim waved her hand. "I'll pay for it."
"Mim, that's very generous, especially since you graduated from Madeira."
"I might as well do something with the money. It appears I am never to have grandchildren."
Mim's daughter, divorced, was childless and not at all happy about either state. Her son, living in New York, was married to an elegant African-American model but they, too, had not produced an heir.
"They'll get around to it."
"I hope before I'm dead!" came the tart response.
"We've plenty of years left. Now you just come on back here and have a piece of my fresh pumpernickel."
"Love pumpernickel." Mim whizzed through the divider.
As Miranda cut through the warm bread the glorious scent intensified. Tucker opened an eye but couldn't bring herself to move. Harry brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
"Why hasn't Tracy Raz come to see me?"
"He's just gotten here." Miranda handed Mim a napkin.
"He's been here almost a week. You tell him I'm miffed. I expect a call. Maybe we didn't go to the same school but we were all friends. After all, I was home every holiday and every summer."
"Yes, dear." Miranda had learned how to handle Mim decades ago and was amazed that the woman's daughter had never figured out the trick: agree with her even when you don't. Over time, bit by bit, present opposing points of view. Nine times out of ten, Mim would hear it. But oppose her immediately or rain on her parade and her back would go up. You'd never get anywhere. Mim's mother was the same way, as was her ancient Aunt Tally, alive and exceedingly well.
"Harry, how's your reunion coming along?"
"BoomBoom has done a good job organizing. I have to give her credit. She has some original ideas."
"That's gracious of you." Mim beamed. "Now girls, I have a bone to pick with Market Shiflett and I want your support."
Both Harry and Miranda looked at one another and then back to Big Mim. "What?" they said in unison.
"He's moved that blue dumpster parallel with the alley. Looks dreadful. I should think it upsets you, Miranda."
"Well . . ." She measured her words. "He has created more parking and this was the only way he could do it."
"He could go back to garbage cans." Mim pronounced judgment.
"He even tried chaining the garbage cans. That didn't work. He painted them orange and people still ran over them," Harry offered.
"I know all that," Mim replied imperiously. "Then he can set the dumpster sideways under the privet hedge and he can build a palisade around it."
"But the dumpster is picked up once a week on a huge flatbed and a clean one put down in its place. I don't see how he can build a palisade around it." However, Miranda liked the idea.
"Oh yes, he can. Put big hinges on the long end, the end facing the parking lot, such as it is"-her voice dropped-"and put rollers on the bottom. In essence it's a big gate. When the pickup truck comes all Market has to do is roll that gate back or swing it out, whichever makes the most sense. He'll have to figure that out but I know it will work. I'm going over there to speak to him right now. Could one of you come with me?"
"Uh . . ." Harry stalled.
"Harry, go on. I'll sort the mail. You're better suited than I am."
"I don't know if that's true." Harry wiped her hands on the napkin.
"Harry," was all Mim said.
"Okay," she replied weakly, "but before we go in there, let's look closely at the site and the dumpster. Maybe we can figure out ways to improve it even more, you know, some plantings or something."
"Excellent!"
Miranda dropped her eyes lest she laugh by connecting with Harry. If there's one thing Mim couldn't resist it was a gardening idea. Harry was shrewd enough to maneuver her into yet an-other beautification plan.