“Ed Franklin himself, before he died. I’m president, you see, but the sign was his idea. He worked out the design and the details. It came out real good.”
“His death must be a huge loss to the organization,” said Lucy.
“Yeah,” agreed Zeke, nodding. “But we’re going to have a big rally in his memory . . . on Thanksgiving Day, our national holiday.”
Lucy couldn’t resist. She had to say it. “But you know, Thanksgiving was started by the Pilgrims, who were actually immigrants.”
“They were American immigrants,” said Zeke, pointing a finger at her. “Remember that. American immigrants. America for Americans.”
“It’s been great talking to you, Zeke,” she said, managing a halfhearted smile. It really wasn’t worth pointing out that the Pilgrims arrived in 1620, a hundred and fifty-six years before the colonists rebelled against English rule. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Lucy,” he said, picking up a log and starting up the log splitter. It roared into life and even though his lips were moving she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
She gave him a wave and headed for her car, feeling somehow soiled by his hateful, ignorant words. If only you could wash off intolerance and prejudice like you rinse off salt after a swim in the sea. But all too often, it seemed, these ideas stuck and wormed their way into people’s minds, where they grew like cancer.
Ed Franklin was dead, she thought, but he had left behind a hateful legacy that would live on, poisoning minds and quite possibly ripping the Tinker’s Cove community apart.
CHAPTER 18
Lucy glanced at the dashboard clock when she started the car and was startled to realize it was almost noon. She wasn’t far from home, so she decided to stop by to see how Bill was doing and have lunch with him before heading back to the office.
Reaching Red Top Road, which was usually deserted this time of day, she was surprised to see a number of cars coming the opposite way. The drivers usually stuck an arm out the window and gave her a wave or a friendly toot on the horn. When she got to the house perched on the top of hill, she saw an extra car in the driveway. Franny Small was bent over taking something out of her little Chevy, and when she stood up, Lucy saw she was holding a foil-covered dish.
“Hi, Lucy,” she said, waiting while Lucy got of her SUV. “I hope Bill likes American chop suey. I made some for him. I thought he might like a hot lunch.”
“Thanks, Franny. It’s one of his favorite meals.” Lucy neglected to mention that she hadn’t made it for him in years, considering all that macaroni and ground beef much too fattening. “Why don’t you come in and have lunch with us.”
“Okay,” said Franny, who was a single lady, now retired from a successful business career. “That would be nice. I do get a little tired of eating alone.”
Once inside the kitchen, Lucy saw the golden oak table was full with a number of covered dishes. “What’s all this?” she asked when Bill popped out of the family room.
“People have been stopping all morning, bringing food,” he said. “There’s cookies and banana bread and mac and cheese and I don’t know what all.”
“I guess I’ve brought coals to Newcastle,” said Franny.
“Never you mind. I’m going to clear this away and we’ll have your American chop suey,” began Lucy, transferring a couple pies to the counter.
“American chop suey!” exclaimed Bill. “That’s my favorite, and Lucy never makes it anymore.”
Franny blushed, setting the foil-covered dish on the table. “I know it’s the sort of hearty dish most men enjoy eating.”
Lucy took Franny’s coat and hung it up with her own, then quickly set the table with placemats, dishes, and silverware. She put the kettle on for tea and they all sat down to eat. Bill’s broken arm hadn’t spoiled his appetite, and he pleased Franny no end by eating seconds and thirds. When the kettle whistle sounded, Lucy made a pot of tea that they had along with Lydia Volpe’s pizzelle cookies for dessert.
When they were finished eating, Franny insisted on helping Lucy with the dishes. Bill went off to the family room, rubbing his tummy and yawning as he went. The phone rang a couple times, but each time, he picked up the extension in the family room before Lucy could dry her hands to answer. When the dishes were done, Franny and Lucy exchanged thanks and good-byes—Franny thanked Lucy for inviting her to lunch and Lucy thanked Franny for bringing lunch and they both did this several times before Franny finally left. Lucy went into the family room expecting to find Bill sound asleep, but he was still talking on the phone.
“Waller’s Garage has offered to cover the deductible when they fix the truck,” he said when the call ended. “No charge.”
“That’s great,” said Lucy, who had been fretting about that hefty deductible ever since her conversation with their insurance agent. She’d made the decision to raise the deductible some years ago in an effort to reduce the cost of their car insurance, which had increased sharply when the kids began driving.
“And the kids in the church youth group want to come and rake leaves for us.”
“My goodness,” said Lucy, feeling rather overwhelmed.
“Miss Tilley is going to bring me some books,” he said, “and Hattie Gordon from the garden club is bringing a harvest-themed wreath, whatever that is.”
Lucy was going to tell him, but the phone was already ringing again. She left him to answer it and headed back to work, taking along one of the four loaves of cranberry bread they had received. It would be good for an afternoon coffee break.
As she drove, she thought about all the good and kind people in Tinker’s Cove who were always quick to reach out and help their neighbors in times of trouble, and she thought of Zeke Bumpus and the America for Americans faction. She
