“I’m sorry I’m late.” I grabbed the bag of pellets from the mailbag and opened it up, tossing a handful into the creek. “I had to make a pit stop.”
I had no idea why I talked to my duck friend, but I did. We would do the same song and dance at the end of Little Creek Road, where I’d cross over the other bridge at the end of the street that led me back to Main Street and across the street to the post office, where I’d grab my third and final loop of the day.
Quack, quack. The little duck looked so peaceful sitting on top of the water, only I knew its little webbed feet were going a mile a minute underneath the water to keep it from drowning.
“I feel like I’m drowning,” I told the duck and threw one small handful of food into the creek. “I guess I’m wondering if I’m going to be alone when I’m older. How is this going to turn out for me?” I questioned the duck, who was safe to talk to since she didn’t answer me back.
Her head pierced the water as her bill batted at the pellets, giving a little headshake a few times. I watched in amazement at how determined she was to eat every little pellet.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” I pushed the strap of the bag onto my shoulder, and off I went, taking a left on Little Creek Road.
There were only a few houses to deliver to on my street. First one was Mac Tabor. I was thankful I didn’t have to deliver to him since I’d already been to Tabor Architects, where I delivered all his mail together. I knew it was okay when we’d been dating, but now that we weren’t, I was sure it wasn’t legal to deliver his personal mail there. I made a mental note that I would no longer do that and keep all of it professional.
I stood at the top of the street and looked down at the row of cottage-style homes that were only on the right side of the dead-end street. These were the first homes built in the settlement when they discovered Sugar Creek Gap, claiming it as a mill town. All the houses were two-story homes with a family room, a bedroom, a bath, and a kitchen on the first floor. The second floor was like a little loft bedroom. Each house had a small covered porch along the front with three concrete steps leading up to it.
We all had chain-link fences and a gate to enter the small grassy front yard.
“It’s ‘bout time you got here!” Harriette Pearl hollered from the front porch of her house, where she and the following three neighbors, who I lovingly referred to as the Front Porch Ladies, were all gathered on the two wooden swings hanging from Harriette’s porch. “We was ‘bout to put out an all-points bulletin on you.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle when I let myself in her front gate and walked up the walkway to see them.
“You even brought out the scanner?” I pointed to the police scanner she had sitting on a little wire table with the antennas stretched out like two long bunny ears.
“We were worried something happened to you.” Ruby Dean, the neighbor who lived next door to Harriette, tsked. “It wouldn’t be unusual for you to put yourself in a sticky situation.”
“Mmhmmm, maybe another murder and all.” Gertrude Stone shrugged. “I was telling Ruby that I’d been worried about you since Mac cheated.”
“No, I don’t want no mac and cheese.” Ruby shook her head.
“Mac and cheese?” Gertrude snarled. “I said Mac cheated!” she yelled at Ruby. “Turn up your ears!”
They bantered back and forth about Ruby’s hearing getting worse while I spoke up over them.
“Mac didn’t cheat.” That was the last rumor I wanted to be added to the rumor mill around our small town. “We decided we were better friends.”
“Friends do things together.” Millie Barnes gestured to the other three ladies. “And I’ve got my Elk’s meeting with my friends.” She, in her none too subtle way, was trying to get around to asking if I had her dessert from the Wallflower. “And I’ve not seen you and Mac even so much as look over yonder way for each other.”
“We are busy just like you.” I took the bag off my shoulder and took out her box before I got to their mail bundles. “And from what I hear, you’re going to have some wonderful slices of smoky summer sausage and grits casserole today for your Elk’s meeting.”
“I can’t thank your mom enough for being so kind and baking this for us. The ladies love it, and so do I. We talk all other nine months out of the year how we can’t wait for summer to roll around and have some of this summer casserole.” She opened the box and quickly shut it when Gertrude tried to get a look-see. “If you’d join the club like I’ve asked you to over and over, then you’d be getting a slice today.”
“I ain’t got no time to join any club.” Gertrude snapped.
“Because you’re too busy watching your soap opera,” one of the ladies mumbled, creating all sorts of feathers being ruffled and each one of them pointing out different flaws in the others.
“I’d love to stay and referee, but I’ve got to go let Buster out to potty before I head on over to the neighborhood.” I handed each of them their stack of mail and told them I’d see them later. “And I need to see Gerome before he leaves for the day.”
“What’s up with him?” Harriette was the ringleader of the Front Porch Ladies. She was the nosiest too.
“Nothing. He’s the mail carrier for the garage, and I have a certified letter for Simon that was slipped into my bag by accident. It’s certified, so I’m sure Simon is waiting for it.”
Harriette and the gals knew all too well about waiting for mail. They loved getting mail and were always waiting for me.
“Poor guy. He is a kind young man.” Harriette’s lips pursed as she shook her head like he was heading to the sweet hereafter. “Never met a stranger. Always called me by name. Asked about my neighbors.”
“Is there something wrong with Simon?” I lifted the bag onto my shoulder and waited at the bottom step to hear her reply.
If someone was sick or if there was some sort of scandal, Harriette would know. I swear that church telephone chain was just a license to gossip.
“You know how stories spread around here, which I didn’t want to believe, but when I saw him over at the General Store, I knew the rumors were true.” Harriette’s lips turned down. She lifted her hand up in the air and crumpled up her fingers. “He’s got some sort of early arthritis.”
“Is that what it is?” Millie asked. “Kay Tedle said she’d seen him at a restaurant one day, and he could hardly pick up his fork to feed himself. It was awful.”
I listened to the older women banter about the various things they heard from the rumor mill without even knowing what was actually wrong with Simon Little. Living in a small town, I knew that everyone always suspected the worse when it came to an illness.
Like this tale of Simon Little. Harriette said he’s got some form of arthritis. But when she heard Millie say something about not being able to feed himself, I could see her wheels turning like he had something worse.
I was trying hard not to diagnose the young man, though I was curious to ask Gerome since he did see Simon a few days a week, if not on a daily basis.
“I don’t know about none of that, but I do know I’ve got to get going,” I said.