The Dreeson Incident(116)

Someone stood up. Oh, lordy! Cora thought. Vera Hudson. Willie Ray's wife. Debbie's mother. Vera wouldn't give Chad the time of day, but she would never let anyone get by with put-downs on her grandchildren. Not that Vera was likely to say anything in defense of one of the Stones, since Missy and Ron weren't official yet, exactly, not but what it appeared to be high time that they should be, but she was bound to attack full steam in defense of Chip's young lady and Anne's husband.



Anne's husband, in particular.



Vera had kept Anne for a long time after Don Jefferson's death. First while Debbie finished high school, then during the four years Debbie was getting her degree at WVU, and when Debbie came back to Grantville to teach in 1978 on the grounds that the first couple of years were always so time-consuming for a beginning teacher and what they were paying Debbie really wouldn't cover decent day care. Back when Chad and Debbie married during Christmas vacation in 1980, Vera insisted on keeping Anne. At the time, Cora had thought it was a little odd. But Vera claimed that it would upset Anne to move in with them in the middle of the school year and the newlyweds needed some time to adjust to one another. At least, that was the story she told everyone. Debbie finally put her foot down that summer and insisted Anne live with her and Chad. Vera had not been a bit happy and the ten-year-old Anne even less. Afterwards she spent as much of her weekends, school breaks and summers with Vera and Willie Ray as her mom would allow.



As far as Vera was concerned, Anne could do no wrong.



Cora had a feeling that this was going to be one of those days that caused her to start her evening diary entry with, "A lively time was had by all." That was before the door opened again, admitting Inez Wiley and Veronica Dreeson, who—oh, no, no—had Denise and Minnie in tow. And Idelette, the Genevan girl, of course, but she was very well behaved.



After the last confrontation, Joe Pallavicino had talked to the two old biddies. Since then, they had been, as Joe put it, mentoring Denise and Minnie more intensively.



They came in just as Maxine scooted over and let Jenny out of the back booth.



"So sehr wie eine Walküre," an appreciative male voice murmured as Jenny stalked down the aisle toward the front of the café, lining herself up next to Vera.



Couldn't Inez and Ronnie have decided to mentor somewhere else?



Who needed an irritated Valkyrie in the City Hall Café?



Why was Veda Mae here instead of over at the Willard, anyway? Why had she been here the other day, for that matter? Was she on the outs with Lois again? About what, this time? Cora's natural curiosity perked up a bit.



The wad of little bells fastened to the front door jingled again.





The first person Clara saw when she came through the door was Jenny Maddox, whom she liked and admired. "Good morning, Jenny," she said. Then she saw Vera Hudson, to whom, as a connection of her husband's family, she should be courteous. She gave a little wave. "Isn't it gorgeous out, Mrs. Hudson. I have been walking around, up and down the hills, admiring the sun on the icicles. Up on the greenhouse, where the roof is warm and the snow water trickles down, they reach all the way from the eaves to the ground, like the stone formations in the Feengrotten. There are many snow men, someone has made a snow sphinx in his front yard. Isn't that interesting?"



Jenny stared at her. Then said, "Good morning."



No one else in the room was saying anything at all.



Clara had never heard such quiet in Cora's. She looked around for the cause just as Denise and Minnie tore themselves loose from their mentors and dashed to stand one on each side of her.



"May I have tea, please, Cora. The sassafras kind."



She reached out, putting one hand on the nearest shoulder of each of the girls. "Has she been making a fool of herself again, this malignant . . . pain in the donkey?"



Denise broke into giggles. "It's 'ass,' Clara, not 'donkey.' "



"Wesley told me that 'ass' is not a nice word."



"It's not, but 'donkey' sort of loses the meaning of the insult. Because one kind of an ass is a donkey but the other kind of ass is the one that has a pain in it."



"I don't know if she has been making a fool of herself right now, exactly" Minnie said quietly. "We just got here. But she has said such awful things, over and over again, about so many good people, that she should be ashamed of herself. Not just about you and Mr. Jenkins. About Chip, Gerry, Gerry's dad. Everyone."



"Why would it matter to Chip or Gerry what she says? Neither one of them cares what Grantville thinks, any more."



"Clara!" Jenny Maddox said.