The Illusion of Simple by Charles Forrest Jones

Author:Charles Forrest Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Iowa Press
Published: 2022-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Part 3

A FEW DAYS AFTER THE outhouse caper, a second incident befalls Ewing County. This one not so amusing in either its emergence or consequence.

Judy and Roy Engel are people of steady habit and obsessive yard care. He hand-sharpens his lawnmower blade every week to ensure uniform length and crisp cuts. Fallen leaves are whisked up first thing in the morning and last thing before dusk. Flowers evenly spaced, in pretty little rows. More than nature perfected, this is nature beaten into submission. The Engels are in their mid-eighties. Roy is skinny, with a deeply lined face and chin whiskers. He wears a straw hat in the summer, corduroys and a woolen cap in winter. Judy is matronly plump and makes her own dresses, each with a demure little cape. The design changes only in fabric. Light cottons when it’s warm, heavy wool for the cold. This day is blustery and chill.

After morning yard work, they go in for a parsimonious lunch and a nap. They wake, read the paper, pay the bills, and attend to correspondence. Right at three o’clock, the Engels walk two blocks to the post office on courthouse square. After depositing the mail, they stop by the Gas-N-Go for a cup of coffee and donut. They sit at a table in the back corner, near the soda dispenser and rotating hot dog grill. Occasionally, they are joined by friends from church with whom they discuss books, prayer, and the news. Most often, as on the day of the incident, they sit alone in comfortable silence.

That day, as they get up to leave, Roy slaps his money on the counter. Becca, the young mother with a bad complexion and radiant smile, is absorbed in paperwork. Anxiously chewing on a pencil that is already riddled with teeth marks.

“What you doing there?” Roy asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Becca answers, sliding a handful of forms beneath the counter. At the suggestion of Owen Middleton, she is applying to Colby Community College. Having such an aspiration embarrasses her. Nobody in her family ever dared dream of higher education. She shifts the topic. “Miss Judy, what do you have in the quilt show this year?”

Judy blushes. Her quilts are regionally famous. Precise and dense affairs, so heavily laden with fabric and thread that they hang a deep sag into even the heaviest dowel.

“Oh, just a little something,” she answers, flapping her wrists as if to make the whole thing go away.

“Best one she ever made,” Roy brags. He opens the door and holds it for his wife.

“Can’t wait to see.”

The young woman watches the two old regulars lean into the wind. Roy pulls his hat down low, lest it be blown away. Judy tightens her coat and scarf. Then off they go, hand in hand. When they are no longer in sight, Becca goes back to her application.

It usually takes the Engels about fifteen minutes to walk two blocks home. The distance is short, but they are never in a rush. They study the neighbors’ yards.

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