Not So Peachy Day Page 3

  “Three feet, my goodness,” Momma Peach said.

  “No planes are going to be flying out of Mableville until it melts—we don’t have any kind of plows around here. Could be as long as a week,” the old man told Momma Peach and puffed on his cigar. His face was tough and mean but his eyes were gentle but stern. “You folks would be better off renting a car and driving west before the storm hits.”

  “I checked with the rental car company in the airport,” Sam explained. “Every car was rented out. We're trapped.”

  “Might be best that you are,” the old man pointed out. “I doubt you would get far and it'll be night soon, anyway. Roads are worse at night. Best that you folks hunker down at John's place and sit the storm out.”

  “John's place?” Sam asked.

  “John Minski owns the Greenview Inn,” the old man told Sam and turned up a weather report, listened for a minute, then snapped off the radio. “Yep, going to be a mean storm. And speaking of mean, John Minski is one mean old fart, let me tell you.” The old man glanced at Sam and then focused back on the road and drove the cab out of the airport and turned onto a wet, icy road that meandered through the dull winter countryside. “John and me, we served in Vietnam together. It'll be smart of you if you don't mention the war.”

  “Mister, all I want is to get these ladies to a safe, warm hotel and get some food into us,” Sam replied.

  “Name is Ralph, not mister.”

  Sam nodded his head. “Ralph it is, then.” Sam tossed a thumb at the backseat. “That's Momma Peach and Rosa. We're on our way to vacation on a warm island in the Pacific...well, we were.”

  Ralph chewed on his cigar. “Wouldn't mind taking the wife to one of those islands,” he told Sam. “I'm a retired plumber trying to make a living on top of what little I get from Social Security and my vet pension. Hurt my back eight years ago...haven't been much good since. My brother-in-law lets me drive this cab for him when he’s feeling poorly. I make a little pocket change, but not enough to take a fancy vacation.”

  Momma Peach felt pity enter her heart. “Our veterans should be taken better care of,” she told Ralph.

  “Ma’am,” Ralph replied, “this country couldn’t care less about me or my service. I get twelve hundred dollars a month to live off of from Social Security and my veterans’ pension and I'm allowed to make only so much on top of that. My wife, bless her heart, still works up at Green Hill Nursing Home, but her pay isn't much to look at. But the Lord is good, and we get by. We always have food on the table and a roof over our heads. So I'm not complaining. I served my country proudly and I'll die knowing I did so, no matter how I'm treated...or even forgotten.”

  Sam felt an immediate respect for Ralph. “You're a good man, Ralph. A dying breed.”

  “We all are,” Ralph told Sam and motioned at Momma Peach. “The world is being taken over by a bunch of kids who want to give this country over to every disgrace imaginable to man.” Ralph shook his head. “The old-timers are dying off and I'm mighty grateful to be one of them. I don't think I can stand to live much longer and see my country turn into the very enemy I fought in Vietnam.”

  “Amen to that,” Momma Peach said.

  Ralph continued to chew on his cigar. “Yeah,” he said, “a lot of people would say Amen to that, good people...but ma’am, Mableville is being overrun by a bunch of...well, folks I wouldn't waste two cents on, let me put it that way. In the last four years alone, I've seen Old Jack’s grocery store torn down and replaced by one of them fancy chain stores. I've seen Michael Brady's hardware store ripped out right from under him and the storefront turned into a stupid art gallery.” Ralph shook his head in disgust. “Over ten stores that have been part of Mableville since I was a child have been destroyed and replaced by garbage. John Minski is the last holdout.”

  “Holdout?” Momma Peach asked.

  “Yeah,” Ralph explained. “The Coplin and Morris Land Development Company is trying to pressure John to sell out. John ain't budging an inch.” Ralph slowed the cab down a little. “Roads are getting icier by the second.”

  “Coplin and Morris...I saw a billboard for that company back at the airport,” Sam told Ralph.

  “Yep,” Ralph said, “Coplin and Morris are everywhere. They want to take everything that makes Mableville unique and turn it into a trash heap and give the profits to outsiders. Of course, they call it 'progress' and 'smart development.'” Ralph huffed. “I don't call tearing down a man's life and building a bunch of look-a-like homes on his land 'progress' or development.' I call it plain old death.”

  Momma Peach glanced at Rosa. Rosa had her eyes trained on the back of Ralph's head. “Baby?” she asked.

  “Huh?” Rosa asked. She looked at Momma Peach. “Oh, I was just thinking about how sad it is to lose everything you love.”

  “You said it, young lady,” Ralph told Rosa. “John Minski has owned the Greenview Inn for over thirty years. And now a bunch of rats are trying to force him to sell out. People are fighting it, though. Michael is fighting to get his land lease back and might just do it if we can vote in a new mayor, too. We old-timers aren't going down without a fight. But,” Ralph said and shook his head with sadness, “we may win the battle but lose the war, you know? The war is one we won't win because the heart of America has changed. People are too busy chasing progress, they can’t see they’re turning our country into the same kind of place we once fought to liberate...it’s a shame.”

  Sam looked at Ralph. The rough old man grew silent. “Shame,” he whispered and began thinking about the warm island he was desperately trying to reach with Momma Peach and Rosa. Suddenly the island seemed sour in his mind. He had the sudden urge to buy a home in Mableville and join the fight against Coplin and Morris and whoever else was involved in destroying the little town.

  Momma Peach leaned back in her seat and looked out of the window. She saw brown, rolling hills and bare trees under an icy sky. Central Tennessee sure was pretty, she thought, though surely it would be a whole lot prettier in the spring. In her mind, she pictured Mableville as a cozy little town tucked in between the hills, the perfect place to discover warm bakeries, hardware stores, dress shops, candy shops, antique stores, every kind of warm and cozy family-owned store her mind could imagine. Then she saw a dark, ugly hand trying to rip up the town and poisoning that vision with chain stores and so-called modern buildings that were nothing but soulless places where a town’s money went to die. “The disease is spreading all over the place,” she said.

  “Disease?” Rosa asked.

  “Oh,” Momma Peach told Rosa in a tired voice, “what I mean, is that the country I grew up loving is changing into a cheap landscape filled with buildings that all look the same. The old ways are going away. You don't have creaky old grocery stores anymore or little toy shops or even a cozy bookstore to explore. Now everywhere you turn, you run into enough chain stores to make you sick.”

  “But we have old stores in our town, Momma Peach.”

  “Yes,” Momma Peach forced a smile to her face, “we do...for a while longer. Why? Because our town is supported by a strong, Christian mayor and a town council that likes things just the way they are.”

  Ralph looked at Momma Peach through the rearview mirror. “I might take the wife and move to your town,” he told Momma Peach.

  “You'd be more than welcome,” Momma Peach smiled. “Momma Peach loves to expand her family.”

  Ralph felt a smile touch his eyes. He could sense that Momma Peach was a special lady who meant her words. “Well,” he said, “your offer is tempting, but I've never backed down from a fight and I can't start now.”

  “I understand,” Momma Peach told Ralph.

  The cab grew silent. Only the sound of ice hitting the windshield made any sound. Momma Peach closed her eyes and tried to rest her mind and forget about how ugly the world was becoming.

  John Minski wheeled out into a warm lobby in a worn-down wheelchair that had seen better days. His eyes weren't focused on
Momma Peach, Sam or Rosa, who were all standing next to a blazing fire in the stone hearth. His eyes were set on two men wearing gray suits and black overcoats. “I done told you to get,” he snapped.

  One of the men looked at the small American flag John had attached to the back of his wheelchair and rolled his eyes. “Mr. Minski, the war is over,” he said in a flat tone.

  Momma Peach studied John Minski's furious face. The man resembled a pit bull with eyes that would make a rattlesnake run for the nearest hole. Sure, he had gray hair and his legs were missing, but that didn't stop the man from being a fierce bear. “Get out and get offa my land,” John growled and whipped out a gun from the pocket of his green Army jacket.

  “Hey,” the two men cried out in alarm and raised their hands up in the air, and one replied, “Cool it old-timer. We're not the enemy.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” John growled. “Your type is my enemy. Now get.”

  The two men slowly backed up to the front door. “Mr. Minski, be reasonable. You are being offered a very generous amount for this...establishment. We suggest you take the money while the offer is still on the table.”

  Sam carefully walked over to John and folded his arms. “You heard the man,” he said and pointed at the front door. “He told you to leave.”

  The two men glared at Sam with angry eyes and then focused back on John. “You have one week, old man,” one of the men snapped, his anger finally getting the best of him and making him show his true colors, “and then we're going to have the town council condemn this dump and snatch it away from you, is that clear?”

  John aimed his gun at the man. “Step one foot back on my property and you'll be seeing through a hole in your head. Now get!” he yelled. The two men shook their heads and walked outside into an icy parking lot and to the waiting black limousine. Everyone watched as the limo pulled away. John finally lowered his gun and looked up at Sam. “I can fight my own battles,” he snapped.

  “Yeah, you sure can,” Sam replied. He studied the lobby. The lobby was small, with a rustic hardwood floor and knotty pine walls. Three dark brown armchairs cozied up next to the fireplace and a wooden counter nearby held a coffee pot filled with hot coffee. “Nice place you have here.”

  John lowered his gun. “It's mine,” he said and rolled his wheelchair back behind the front counter. “You folks are going to need more than one night,” he told Sam. “You're going to need at least seven nights unless you're planning to snowshoe out of Mableville.”

  Momma Peach warmed her hands and made her way up to the front counter. She looked down at John and smiled. “We'll stay however many nights you think we need to.”

  John looked up at Momma Peach and soaked in the compassion on her sweet, caring face. Then, to Sam's shock, he actually smiled. “Weatherman said the storm that's fussing outside is going to be a mean one. Mableville is a small town that rolls up the sidewalks at sunset. She ain't prepared for this storm and I know for a fact that once the snow shuts down the roads, nothing will be moving again until the storm passes.”

  “Seven nights seems excessive, I was figuring perhaps only four. This storm is expected to drop—” Sam began to say.

  “Four feet of snow,” John interrupted. “Was three feet, but now it's up to four. People are saying this storm is going to be worse than the one that hit in 1917.” John put his gun back into the pocket of his jacket. “Well, let's get you folks checked in.”

  Rosa stood in shock. She had never in her life seen a man pull a gun and aim it at another man, yet Momma Peach and Sam didn't seem concerned at all. She slowly walked up to Momma Peach and tugged on her coat. “Momma Peach?”

  “Yes?” Momma Peach asked.

  “That man just aimed a gun at those other men,” Rosa said in a shaky voice. “Should we be staying here?”

  “Oh, he was just chasing off two rats,” Momma Peach explained and patted Rosa on her arm. “This is Rosa, Mr. Minski.”

  John looked at Rosa. “You worried about my gun, young lady?” he asked. Rosa nodded her head yes. John pointed at the front door. “That world out there is filled with dangerous animals, young lady. A man needs a gun to protect himself, his family, and what belongs to him. Never forget that.”

  “But you pointed your gun at those two men,” Rosa objected. “I mean...someone could have been shot.”

  “That would have been a darn shame,” John said and winked at Rosa. Momma Peach chuckled to herself and Sam grinned.

  Rosa didn't know what to say or think. So she did the only thing she knew how to do: she shoved her hands into the pocket of her coat and walked back to the fireplace. “She's young,” Momma Peach told John.

  John smiled. “I see goodness in her,” he told Momma Peach and then pointed at a stack of guest registry forms sitting on the front counter. “I do things the old-fashioned way here. I don't have one of them computers and I take cash only.”

  Sam pulled out his wallet. “I stopped at an ATM machine at the airport,” he told Momma Peach. “John, how much do we owe you?”

  “Just pay for the first night,” John told Sam, “and we'll worry about the rest later. We agreed to one night over the phone, but that was before the weather report changed.” John studied Sam's face. “I know you're good for the money. We can settle the rest of the nights when you check out.”

  “Fair enough,” Sam said and placed two hundred dollars down on the front counter.

  “Only need five twenties,” John told Sam as he counted out one hundred dollars and tried to hand Sam back the rest. Sam refused. “This is your money.”

  “No,” Sam said, “you take that extra one hundred dollars and give it to Ralph the next time you see him, okay?”

  John looked at the money in his hands and then back up at Sam. “Sure thing,” he promised and shoved the money into his jacket pocket. Sam smiled and began filling out a guest registry form. Ten minutes later he walked up a flight of green carpeted stairs and down a long hallway with Momma Peach and Rosa. “Room 210 and 211,” he said, reading the numbers attached to each door they passed. The hallway was warm and smelled of pine and cinnamon, reminding Sam of their friend’s beautiful mountainside lodge in Alaska.

  “There,” Momma Peach said, spotting their room number. “That's our room, Mr. Sam.”

  Sam stopped in front of the door. “Okay, ladies,” he said, “I'm going to get a hot shower and then we'll meet back downstairs and walk next door to the truck stop for a hot meal. John said the owner stays open twenty-four hours, regardless of the weather.”

  “We'll meet you in one hour, Mr. Sam,” Momma Peach smiled and stuck an old-fashioned key into the lock and opened the door leading into her room. Sam nodded his head, unlocked the door to his room, and vanished inside. Momma Peach quickly entered her room with Rosa, closed and locked the door, and looked around. “Nice,” she said in a relieved voice.

  Rosa let her eyes roam around. She took in the two queen beds covered with beautiful green quilts, rustic painted log walls, a soft brown carpet that was immaculately clean, and two dark green curtains framing an oval window. What she didn't spot was a television. “No television,” she told Momma Peach and set her suitcase down on the closest bed.

  “Mr. Minski is an old-timer who believes a book is better than a television screen,” Momma Peach explained and peeked into a clean, bright bathroom. “I have no complaints,” she said.

  “This entire inn reminds me of a big log cabin,” Rosa sighed and plopped down on her bed. “It's very nice, but I do like to watch my game shows at night. I hate it when I miss ‘Password,’ Momma Peach. My grandparents call me a creature of habit. I guess they're right.”

  Momma Peach closed the bathroom door and sat down next to Rosa. “Don't you have your laptop?”

  “Why?” Rosa asked and then lit up. “Yes, Momma Peach, I do. I can watch my game shows online.”

  “Kids today,” Momma Peach chuckled and hugged Rosa. “Now, I’m going to go take me the longest hot shower in the world and
then we'll go eat us some truck stop food. That is, if you don't need the bathroom first.”

  Rosa shook her head. “I take my shower right before bed, Momma Peach. I sleep better that way.”

  “Creature of habit?”

  Rosa blushed. “Yes, Momma Peach.”

  “Any more habits I should know about?” Momma Peach teased and touched the tip of Rosa's nose.

  Rosa smiled. “Well, I always eat a piece of chocolate before bed to help me have sweet dreams...and I sleep better next to the wall...and I always brush my hair for at least thirty minutes while I watch my game shows.”

  “I love your habits,” Momma Peach laughed and walked over to her bed to open her suitcase. As she did, a gunshot rang out from downstairs. Momma Peach jumped. “Oh, give me strength,” she cried out and spun around. A second gunshot rang out. “Rosa, stay where you are,” she yelled and ran out into the hallway and nearly bumped right into Sam. “Mr. Sam—”

  “I heard the gunshots,” Sam told Momma Peach and looked down the hallway. “Come on,” he said and lowered his voice. Momma Peach pulled the door to her room shut and eased down the hallway with Sam. When they reached the end of the hallway Sam studied the stairs with worried eyes. “You stay right here, Momma Peach.”

  “No sir and no, ma’am,” Momma Peach objected. “I am going where you are going.”

  Sam rubbed the back of his neck and then finally nodded his head. “Let's go,” he said and maneuvered down the stairs. When he stepped into the lobby, he found John staring down at the body of one of the men he had chased off. “John?” Sam called out.

  John didn't raise his head. “All I heard was two gunshots,” he told Sam in a shaky voice.

  Momma Peach pointed at the gun John was holding. “You mean to tell me you didn't shoot this man with your gun?”

  “I was in the back office,” John explained. “When I heard the gunshots, I got out here as fast as my wheelchair would let me.”