“
“Go ahead,” A.J. responded. “Call Uncle Luke down here and let’s see who he decides to shoot.” His mother’s oldest brother had been the night shift security guard at the mill for years, which left his days free for farming. Unfortunately, A.J. was not his favorite nephew due to a boyish prank that had once cost Luke one of his barns. A.J. hoped Clyde would not call his bluff, because he sensed it could go either way upon his uncle’s arrival. Luke had really liked that barn.
Pillsbury was quiet for a moment. Then he turned abruptly and walked toward his office.
“Both of you be in Howard’s office at eight o’clock!” he hollered over his shoulder as he stomped off, as if it had been his idea all the time. A.J. felt another tap on his shoulder and turned to greet his Lady Guenivere. He intended to be humble and assure her thanks were not in order; he would have done it for anyone.
“That certainly went well,” she said. There was a tone in her voice he could not identify, one that did not sound like undying gratitude. “You came barreling in here like a wild bull to defend the honor of a total stranger, got in a fight with our boss, and got yourself fired. Probably me, too. Did I miss anything, or does that cover it?” Her manner was arch and her arms were crossed.
“I guess if you want to take the short view, then that about covers it,” A.J. replied, abashed. He wondered what was happening. This initial meeting was not going as he had hoped. He would be the first to admit his plan had been skimpy, but it had been a plan, and Pillsbury was no longer bothering her. He was hard pressed to understand why she seemed miffed. He decided he should just leave, but he could not take his eyes off of her.
She was tall with piercing green eyes that radiated intelligence. Her shoulder-length brown hair was curly and thick, and A.J. wanted nothing more out of life at that moment than to reach out and touch it. Luckily, he realized- even as smitten as he was-that this would have been a grave error given the circumstances. Her beauty was a positive energy that flowed from within. Hers was an old soul, and a fine one, and it had without question been around the wheel many times.
“It’s not that I’m locked into taking the short view,” she told A.J. “I’m just having trouble seeing the bigger picture.” She looked at him another moment, then let him off the hook. “Since we’re going to be fired together in a couple of hours, I think we should introduce ourselves,” she said. “My name is Maggie Callahan.” She was smiling as they shook hands.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, seeking the haven of civility, a time-honored tactic of Southern men when confronted with formidable women. “My name is Arthur John Longstreet,” he said, “but everybody calls me A.J. Except old Clyde. You heard what he calls me.” Maggie smiled.
“You don’t like him?” she asked.
“You must be psychic,” he said, shaking his head in admiration of her exceptional observation.
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “I should have been promoted to day shift three months ago, but he keeps holding me back.”
“He’s a real gem,” A.J. said. He looked into her eyes, and it was like looking into green eternity.
“Well,” she said, “we will deal with him in the morning. Or try to, anyway.” She shrugged. “We should get back to work, although I don’t suppose it matters much now. Thank you for trying to help me.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, and then she was gone. The sweetness of that one kiss lingered and would be with him until he was no more.
Many problems were resolved when Howard Hoyt arrived the next morning. He sat and listened to all three versions of events, and then he efficiently made short work of the whole situation. He first told Maggie she must have misunderstood Clyde’s intentions and apologized on his behalf for any unpleasantness the confusion may have caused. Then he told her that the day shift job she was seeking was not going to be filled at present, after which he sent her home with an admonishment to refrain from spreading unfounded rumors. She sat quietly through her portion of the chat, but as she stood to leave, she calmly informed Howard that she did not consider the matter resolved. Having watched her glare throughout his monologue, Howard had no doubts he would be hearing from the Callahan girl again.
After Maggie left, Howard turned to Clyde and began to chew him loud and long on the apparently related subjects of compromising positions and absolute stupidity. A.J. sat there and thought it odd that he was being given the opportunity to view the show. But he was fairly quick on the uptake, and it took only a moment to figure the score and realize which long-haired forklift driver was on the losing team. Still, he had expected it, so it did not trouble him greatly. He settled back and enjoyed the scene as Clyde was drawn and quartered by Howard Hoyt. After about thirty minutes of verbal abuse, however, even A.J. began to feel bad for Clyde. He would not have thought this possible and figured he would get over it presently.
Howard continued his tirade until his voice became hoarse. Then he sent Clyde home with instructions to return the following morning. He was now first shift supervisor so he could be watched.
Howard and A.J. sat alone in the office. Howard looked up at him over glasses that had slid down to the tip of his nose. “I let you hear that because I wanted you to know your former supervisor was dead wrong,” he said. “You risked a great deal to do the right thing.” A.J. looked at Howard, and the mill manager could not hold the gaze.
“But I’m fired, right?”
“You’re fired,” Howard agreed. He picked up a pad and pen and wrote down a name and a phone number. “This man is a friend of mine who runs the little mill over at Dogtown. Call him later today. I’ll have it arranged so you can start work tonight.”
He handed the slip of paper over to A.J., who took it because he didn’t know what else to do. It seemed Howard was going to great lengths to soften the blow, and he appreciated it, but the fact loomed large that the man who should have been axed had just been promoted to day shift. It was a poor excuse for justice, a sort of anti-justice that A.J. did not understand. He was tender in years and had not yet learned all he needed to know.
There were several postscripts to the episode. Maggie went home and over coffee told her mama, Jane Austen, of the events that had transpired. Janey was sympathetic and told her daughter not to let it worry her. She also told Maggie to be sure not to mention the problem to her father, Emmett, because they both knew how he would react. Ironically, Emmett agreed that his wife had given their daughter some sound advice. He was sitting in the next room working on an ingrown toenail with his pocketknife when he overheard the conversation. Without a word, he put his knife in his pocket, slipped on his shoe, and took a drive to the mill. Right was right and wrong was wrong, and Emmett had a history of explaining the difference between the two to people like Howard Hoyt.
Emmett Callahan had no tolerance for shades of grey, and he didn’t like anyone harrying his girls, as A.J. would find out presently when he began to court Maggie. In later years, A.J. amused himself by imagining the look that must have been on Howard Hoyt’s face when he saw Emmett filling the door frame, looking as hard as a bar of iron. The two of them conferred privately, and although neither ever spoke of the conversation, the phrase
Maggie was surprised to learn upon her arrival at work that night that the job she desired had been awarded to her. When she later discovered what had led to her promotion, however, she confronted her father in anger and told him in no uncertain terms that when she wanted his help, she would certainly ask for it. Emmett listened in silence. Women were a mystery to him.
Clyde Cordele did not fare well on first shift. A smarter man would have acknowledged a near miss and vowed to change. But this sanity was beyond Clyde, and he never skipped a beat as he slammed into the day crew like a tidal wave. Ironically, Clyde’s ultimate downfall occurred over a set of circumstances eerily similar to those that had gotten him sent to day shift in the first place. Karma will find a way.
Not long after his arrival on his new shift, Clyde became enamored of Beatrice Beaufort England, a weaver otherwise known as Betty B. Although she in no way encouraged Clyde, he took every opportunity to present his attentions and to make a general nuisance of himself. This situation continued for some few weeks until the fateful day of Clyde’s professional and very nearly personal demise arrived.
On that day, Clyde finally became completely overwhelmed with desire and actually reached out and touched one of Betty B.’s breasts. No one would argue the fact that they were dandies, a point that formed the core of Clyde’s defense. But dandies or not, his urge constituted sexual harassment even by the extremely liberal standards of the textile industry of the day.
Betty B.’s husband, Rocky, was the day shift forklift driver, and he was not known for his tolerance where his
