We were on the way back to Grandma and Grandpa’s, having just driven over to Paris to get some things at Piggly Wiggly. Grandpa had the Buick going about 65 down Rte. 5, accelerating through the corners like he was driving one of the midget racers he used to have. Right hand at the top of the wheel, left elbow hanging out the window, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Lordy mercy, Nash be careful!” Grandma’s hand was always on the dashboard, a bundle of nerves directly at odds with Grandpa’s cool demeanor. It was always this way. He only knew one way to drive and, despite having all of the confidence in the world in him, Grandma was always on edge, never really settling back in her seat and her right hand always resting on the dashboard. Okay, in all honesty, sometimes she would start the trip in relaxed fashion but, once we hit the winding roads and Grandpa’s foot got a little heavier on the accelerator, the relaxing came to an end.
“We’ll stop at John C’s and grab some milk and butter. Maybe some Chocolate soldiers for the boys,”she said and he nodded almost imperceptibly. Grandma looked back at us,”We always try to spend a little on John C’s. Lord knows, that man was there for us a time or two, back in the day. So, even though we can get it cheaper at Piggly Wiggly, we always stop and get a few things from him.”
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John C. walked out from behind the meat counter when Nash came through the front door of the store. John C. had seen him stomping the snow off his work boots before he came in but he still left some wet foot prints on the wooden floor, creaking under each step. Nash had his hands thrust down into the pockets of his jacket as he headed for the wood burning stove off to the right of the room.
“Well how y’all doing down there, Nash? You get all moved in?”
“Mornin’, John,”Nash answered softly. That was his way. John C. had never seen a more hard working, soft spoken man. He had witnessed Nash have someone wrap a handkerchief tight around his bicep and then shred that handkerchief when he flexed his muscle. His soft voice and quiet demeanor should never be mistaken for weakness. There was never anything that really gave anyone any idea of his state of mind. There was something about the way Nash carried himself today, though, that told John that something was on the slender man’s mind.
“We are all moved in. Jan is just so happy to have a real home!” Jan was Nash and Bee’s only daughter and they had just moved into the house about a hundred yards down the road from his store. John C. had been an interested observer over the last year, watching Nash come over to his 5 acre parcel after work with some building supplies in the bed of his truck. He had watched him measuring, sawing, and hammering every night until the sun went down – after working eight or nine hour for a construction outfit in Paris. He hadn’t known a man could be that determined or work that hard. These were difficult days but Nash had never quit, never felt sorry for himself, never asked for help.
“Well, good to hear, Nash. Laverne and me will hafta come down one of these afternoons.”
“Always welcome, y’know that,”Nash pulled his hands out of his pockets and extended them closer to the heat of the stove. John C. took that as cue to grab another log from the woodpile and add to the belly of the stove.
“Looks like quite the storm rollin’ in,”he offered. Rolling in was a good description because they had had one storm after another for the last two weeks. One tornado that had missed them but done some damage further south. Thunder, lightening, rain and more snow than normal for this part of Tennessee. Everyone in these parts loved to talk about the weather and this year had given them plenty of conversation fodder!
“We just can’t get past them,”Nash stated softly, wistfully. He straightened up a little more with what seemed to be extra effort. “John, I hate to do this but do you need anything done? I can chop some wood or pump gas or just anything…..”He looked down at his boots. Never in his adult life had he ever had to do anything like this and it wounded him. However, he had a wife and daughter depending on him. “Jan needs some milk and Bee’s got a “have to have” list. With the weather, Mr. Ellis hasn’t been able to get any crews out all month. Even the gas trucks aren’t runnin’ any more than they hafta.”
John C. could feel the Spirit moving within him, that Spirit they talked about at church on Sunday mornings. He reached a big hand over and put it on Nash’s shoulder,”Just keep this ‘tween us, Nash, but I will start a little account for you. We’ll just write everythin’ down on a pad and you can pay me when the work starts again. I know you’re good for it.”
Nash stared down at his feet for a few minutes, trying to fathom why John C. would extend credit to him. Then, he resigned himself to accepting the other man’s genuine compassion and generous offer. “I appreciate that, John. As soon as that sun starts breakin’ through, I’ll start payin’ ya back.”
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Nash’s heart still warmed with gratitude for the friend that saved them in that winter of ‘45. He had a lot of acquaintances but only a few real, true friends and John C. was at the top of that list.
Oh I love stories like this one, Kevin. It's real and so full of compassion and feelings! Well done!
Thank you for the restack, C.J.! Much appreciated!