Lauren

Sweetie Pie Jones

            “Where is she now?” asked Ernie, as he sipped from a cold glass of lemonade, at the local diner’s counter.  He was a tall, handsome, middle-aged man who worked as a farmer in the outskirts of the town.

            It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon, in the small town of Harrisonville, Missouri.  The sky was blue with just a few clouds painted among it.  The birds were chirping happily, and the hustle bustle of the town was at its usual pace. 

            “Who?”  Clara, the manager, was behind the counter drying recently cleaned dishes.  She was not an elderly person, but then again she wasn’t young.  Her face had a few wrinkles and her hair was gray, but her spirit was younger than her years.

            “You know, that woman that disappeared out of thin air.  I think was about 14, but I had absolutely no idea what was going on.”  Ernie glanced around the diner.  By this time many other people walking past the diner had entered and gathered around, hearing the question.  They all were wondering the exact same thing, but all afraid of mentioning her name.  Seeing that she had an audience, Clara decided that she must answer.

            “Oh, you are thinking of Sandy Jones,” she paused, “or as we called her Sweetie Pie Jones.”  There was a far away look in her eyes as she stared at the door, as if waiting for someone in particular to walk through its metal frame, at any minute.

            “Yeah, that’s the one!”  A whispered murmur hummed around the diner as all the people in there began to recall and talk amongst themselves.  Every one of their sentences either included “Oh, I remember her,” or “Yeah, what did really happen to her?”  At that moment, all attention shined on the presence of Clara.  The diner was quieter than it had ever been before.  Even the birds seemed to have coincidentally hushed themselves.

            “Well, that is definitely a name that I haven’t heard in many, many years!”  By now people had exited and come back in with friends or family members.  Soon there were more than fourteen people gathered around the counter.  Most stared blankly at Clara, who made her shift the position of her feet a couple of times.  Some of the people there were older, and most likely had met Sweetie Pie, while others were kids, just wanting to hear a good story.  Every now and then, a traveler would enter the town looking for some kind of shelter or hospitality.  They then would usually come to the diner looking for a bite to eat and tell their story.  Many of the kids would listen intently to these stories, seeing that they didn’t leave the town much.

            This particular story was even more interesting to these kids, because they knew that their parents and grandparents had most likely known Sweetie Pie.  If they wanted to, they could get a continuation of the story, and from many different points of view.

            Clara then continued, “Well, seeing that I have a full house, I might as well start from the beginning.  Sweetie Pie was, well I guess you could say . . . the favorite in the town.  She was a beautiful, young blonde, with blue eyes that sparkled innocently.  She was also talented, and intelligent; almost any trait you could name, she had it somewhere inside herself.  Sweetie cared about this town’s well being above all other things.  She was always the one to keep everyone’s spirit high.  It’s just a mystery as to why she left.”

            “Wait, she just left?  Just like that, without telling anyone?”  Ernie abruptly interrupted.

            “Well, sort of.  It was the 18^th of June and, at one time, the favorite holiday of the year.  It was Juniper Day.  Now, don’t ask why it was named that, because I have no idea.  Sweetie came up with it.  I guess it was because June was one of the few months that didn’t have a holiday.  Everyone came to the park that day and was as cheerful as could be.  The sun shone bright and the liveliness of children at play was louder than it usually was.  This was the day that everyone got off work, to celebrate.  Most had a special reason to celebrate, either a birth, or an anniversary, or something along those lines, while other just enjoyed not having to deal with the stress of work.

            “Juniper day was also like a gathering and a picnic, where old friends caught up, and new friends were made.  Everyone brought their own food dish to share and had lively conversations while the children played. 

            “The thing that I liked most about Juniper day was the tradition.  Every year people brought the same food, and did some of the same activities, like line dances or story telling.  I remember that for the food, the Stevenson’s always brought some cow’s milk from their farm, and the Talerstien’s always brought warm, homemade bread from their grain mill.  The thing that I loved overall though, was the delicious smell of Miss Sweetie’s pies.  Actually, that’s how she got her name, Sweetie Pie.  It’s for the scrumptious pies that she would make every year.  She made apple, blueberry, almost any fruit pie that you could imagine, and boy, were they good!  I can almost taste them now!  You would take only one bite and then it seemed like you couldn’t stop.  Oh, I remember that one year; Bobby Garlin ate four whole pies!  Even though he got sick all over the picnic table, Sweetie still had a smile on her face.  She cleaned it up without a fuss, scrubbing all the extra bits of regurgitated carrots and brownies that had been consumed before.  She threw out the now yellow towel, and strolled over to the dance area.  There she spent the remainder of the night laughing and dancing away.  She went home that night, and no one figured that it would be the last time that they would ever see her.”

            Sweetie walked home alone that starry night, with her jacket wrapped tightly around her arms, and her hair blowing swiftly in the wind.  A basket was slung around her left wrist, which contained the only pie that she could salvage from the incident with Bobby Garlin.  She stopped, glanced up at the clear sky, sighed, and then continued walking.  She lived farther away from the town square than most.  Sweetie liked her space; she liked the view of the mountains and all of the animals visiting her in the morning.  The center of the town didn’t have this, so when she first moved to Harrisonville, she took the small cottage on the border of the town.  Hers was the only house in sight, and she enjoyed the peacefulness. 

            No one had wanted to buy the cottage before because it was almost an hour’s walk from the main part of town.  Sweetie didn’t mind though.  She got exercise and became very good friends with the farmers along the way.

            About thirty-five minutes into her walk home, she passed the first landmark, the Ernihimer’s family farm.  The Ernihimer’s were not very social people, and never attended town activities.  This did not stop Sweetie from being friendly towards them.  She welcomed everyone with open arms and made an effort to be kind no matter what.

            One time, when Sweetie first moved in, the town held a party to welcome her.  She had noticed the Ernihimer’s scurrying around the barn, and had assumed that they were hurrying on their way to town, just as she was.  By the end of the party, Sweetie noticed that they never showed up.  She asked the Sheriff who they were and why they came across so rude and antisocial.  He answered this sort of sarcastically.

            “Oh!  You’re talking about the Ernihimer’s.  They have never come to a town function, and most likely never will!”  He walked away chuckling, apparently thinking of how stupid it was to even ask that question in the first place.  After this, Sweetie turned around, said her goodbyes and thank you’s, and began her way home.

            Before long, Sweetie soon spotted the brightly lit windows of the Ernihimer farm.  She walked over and gently knocked on the damp wooden door.  When there was no answer, Sweetie poked her head in and opened the door slightly, only to reveal a home of chaos.  The two youngest children, brothers, were on the floor of a cluttered room, fighting over a small toy car, yelling at the top of their lungs.  There was an older boy curled up in a black chair, trying to read.   Every other word he looked up and rolled his eyes.  He then eventually walked over to the two younger boys and pulled the toy car away from both of them.  Just before sitting down, he swiftly slipped it into his pocket and smiled silently.  The mother, Mrs. Ernihimer, looked over her shoulder at the two screaming boys, just as a young girl ran into the room complaining that she couldn’t hear her music.  That was when Mrs. Ernihimer caught Sweetie’s eye.  Immediately Sweetie stood up right, and smiled.

            “Sorry, but we aren’t accommodating any guests today.  My husband’s on his way home from the fields, and he doesn’t like surprises.”  As she said this Mrs. Ernihimer turned her back to Sweetie and continued working out the household problems, one at a time.  Sweetie was a little taken aback at the abrupt dismissal, but she didn’t move.  She just stood there and smiled.  Aware that she was still standing there, Mrs. Ernihimer barked, “Sorry honey, but I thought that clearly meant to leave.  Thanks for the visit though.”  Sweetie answered as if this were a polite and proper introduction.

            “My name is Sandy Jones.  I just moved here.  I noticed that you weren’t at the party and just thought that I might introduce myself to you.”  She thought that this might change Mrs. Ernihimer’s mind; it didn’t.  At that exact moment, a tall man with brown hair and a small goatee walked through the door.  As he came in the door, the children hushed them selves and he kissed his wife gently on the cheek.

            “And who may this be,” he roared in a deep, brisk voice.

            “I’m Sandy Jones.  I’m new here and thought I might just visit; to introduce myself.”

            “Didn’t my wife tell you that we aren’t welcoming company tonight?”  He glanced at Mrs. Ernihimer with a warning look.

            “Well yes, she did.  But, I-- well, I don’t know.  I just thought that it might be nice to set up a date to get together; since we’re neighbors now.”  Mr. Ernihimer had never had anyone ask his family to “get together” before, so he had a change of heart and accepted.  He liked the way that Sweetie opened herself up to the family.  He hadn’t done this with many people and it was very, very rare, but he saw something in Sweetie that comforted him.

            After this meeting, Sweetie visited the Ernihimer’s on her way to town, and on her way home.  She was even, on occasion, invited to Sunday brunch or a meal of some sort.  She would sometimes play with the kids to give Mrs. Ernihimer a break.  Lately, though, they hadn’t been together much.  Louie (Mr. Ernihimer) had been busy with work and especially grumpy lately, so Sweetie kept her distance.

            Remembering this, Sweetie glanced at the pie in her basket and made her way through the field to the house.  She wanted to see the kids again, and see the relieved smile on Mrs. Ernihimer’s face.  Sweetie enjoyed helping out and felt as if she has or could make some sort of impression on this family.

             While she was passing the barn, Sweetie heard a smash and something clatter loudly to the floor, which was followed by a shriek.  Concerned, as most would be, she slipped her head through the door and saw something horrifying!  Not many people were violent in the town most got along very well.  Also, not very many people came into town uninvited.  Harrisonville wasn’t a town on the way to anywhere important.  Naturally, only family or distant friends visited.

            Sweetie, quiet as a mouse, stepped into the barn and hid behind a haystack.  In front of her there were 5 stacked barrels of hay, some grain sacks, and a wooden pole leading up to the roof of the barn.  On it was a schedule, telling the kids who does which chores and when.  Sweetie smiled for a moment, thinking about the four delightful kids, when her attention was abruptly brought back to the two other men in the barn.  There was another loud “BANG” as an unfamiliar man slammed a pitchfork up against the barn door.

The unfamiliar man was a tall, dark colored man, dressed in all black.  His face was hard, unreadable, wrinkled up as if trying to look tough or frightening.  He was pointing a loaded rifle at Louie Ernihimer.  Louie himself was not easily intimidated, but by the looks of this scene he was in trouble.  Louie had no way to defend himself and he seemed to be cornered.  Their voices were muffled because of the hay that was surrounding them, but they were firm, serious, and threatening.  It wasn’t hard for Sweetie to make out what they were saying.

            “Where is it?” asked the strange man.  As he jabbed the rifle closer and closer to Louie, making him back up and fidget nervously.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Louie, rubbing his hands together an awkwardly numerous amount of times.

            “You know what I’m talking about!  Richie said you had it!”

            “Oh, Richie!  Yeah, I know Richie.  He didn’t tell me that I would be having unexpected company though.”  Louie responded nervously.  He tried to sound sarcastic, and put a forced smile on his face.

            “If you know Richie, you know where it is!”  Here, Louie’s face sharpened again and got really serious.  He was evidently upset at this remark.

            “Hey! I don’t do no dirty work for Richie.  He’s on his own when it comes to me!  I stopped working with that piece of scum when I knew where everything was heading.  He hated me for it, but I thought that he at least knew we were through.”  The two of them kept of referring to something, “It”, but Sweetie was clueless.  She was shaking too hard to really care.  She sat down with her back against the hay and just listened to the rest of the conversation.

            “You are trying my patience!  TELL ME NOW!”  The man sounded even more agitated than before.

            “I really don’t . . .” That was as far as he got before, click, click, BANG!   Sweetie had just gotten back up in time to see the man in black fire the gun.  Louie’s body slammed, like glass smashing against the ground, into the wall.  Instantly Sweetie screamed, then sat back down in the same position before, breathing heavily.  She knew that the man had heard her; she prayed that she would live.  When he turned around, Sweetie could hear him getting closer and closer.  He hit the hay above her with the butt of the rifle and glared at her with eyes of hatred.  She sprung up as fast as a gazelle when it knows that a predator is around.  As he drew nearer to her, Sweetie slowly backed up until she bumped into the wall.  Then she automatically slid down the wall, tears streaming down her eyes.  They were smudged, makeup running down her beautiful face and dripping off the end of her chin.  The man grabbed the pie from her basket and hurled it against the hay cart.  It smashed against the damp wood and splattered all over.  The blueberry filling streamed down the edge of the cart, seeping into the holes of the wood, and staining anything it touched.  The extra dropped in chunks onto the soft hay-covered ground.  While his back was turned, watching the remains of her pie, Sweetie took the chance, launched her self into the air and scrambled out the door.

            She ran as fast as she could for twenty minutes straight, all the way back into town, to the Sheriff’s house.  When she arrived, she knocked on the door and fell to her knees.  When the Sheriff opened the door, Sweetie was passed out on his doorstep.  He gently picked her up and placed her in the guest bed while he kept an eye on her for the entire night.

            When Sweetie woke, the sun poured out of the tiny window above the head of the bed.  The Sheriff’s wife, Julie was sitting next to her, watching for any slight movement that may have been made.  She then got up and hollered down the stairs something that Sweetie could not comprehend.  Eventually, the Sheriff walked into the room, shoulders high, accompanied by two well dressed men in black suites with ties.  They held a lengthy conversation about the happenings.  Palpably, the rest of the family woke up instantaneously, and saw tragedy that the barn concealed.  They all attempted to run, but the mother and the eldest son met the same fate as their father.  The remaining three children, Cassie, age ten, Samuel, age eight and little Louie jr., only three years old, all hid in the hay loft, hushed, until the coast was clear.  They then headed for town during the first hint of daylight.

            The men introduced themselves as Walter Riley and Avery Schultz.  They were members of the state police and had made their way to Harrisonville the moment they heard the news.  The two of them came so promptly because they knew exactly who they were looking for.  The man’s name was Vinny DeLarouse.  Vinny was a drug dealer, a bank robber, a kidnapper, a mass murder and was #1 on the most wanted list in five of the states surrounding Missouri.  They included Iowa, Arkansas, Kansas, and Illinois.

            Sweetie had hardly been listening to any of this.  Instead she had her attention focused on a spider in the corner of the ceiling directly above the men’s heads.  Finally, something hit her.

            “Wait a minute.  How long did it take you to get here?  I don’t understand.”  She was confused and frightened, which made her slur and stutter her words, obviously still a bit in shock.

            “We drove for 10 hours straight to get here as soon as possible.”  Avery answered, and then looked over at Walter, both with exhausted looking eyes, as if they could never experience anything more boring in their lives.  “We drove through traffic, and hardly stopped to eat.”  Avery immediately brought his hand up and rubbed his belly in an “I’m so sorry,” kind of way.  “We got here two days ago, only to find that you were still asleep.  Thankfully, you have a very close town here, and we were able to find a place to crash.”

            “Whoa!  Wait a minute,” Sweetie interrupted.  She couldn’t believe her ears, had she really been sleeping that long?  “You have been here for two days?”

            “Yes,” the Sheriff answered this.  “We found you collapsed on our door step and when we heard what was in the papers the next day; we figured that we should just let you rest.”  Sweetie stared at him, puzzled about the situation.

            “That is why we’re here.”  Walter responded.  He paused for a moment only to politely ask the Sheriff and his wife to briefly step out of the room.  After they left, Walter waited a few moments then continued.  “Since you have witnessed this mayhem, the state has decided to place you in a small program that only extends to people in very vital situations.  In this program, you change your name and where you live, to protect you from whoever is after you.  In your case, It’s Vinny DeLarouse.”

            “Wha--”

            “We will explain everything a bit later, right now we need you to pack the majority of your things and come back with us to Headquarters.”

            “But, why can’t I stay here?  I don’t want to leave.  I love my life here.  I can stay.  I’ll keep the secret, I swear!”  But despite her complaints, Walter wasn’t about to budge.

            “Unless you want a murderer after you, you better come with us.  You’ll love your new life.  Most usually do.  Now, if you would like to get one last look around the town, we will be happy to escort you around.  Then, by nightfall at the latest, you must have all of your stuff packed and we need to be on our way.”  Without and further complaints, Sweetie bowed her head and scooted out of bed.  She somehow knew that the program was the only way to go.

            “May I say good-bye to my friends?”

            “No,” Walter said firmly.  “If you tell your friends or anyone where you are going or anything about your past then we will have to move you again.  It would defeat the purpose of protecting you if someone knew. You probably know what I mean.  If you just cooperate we can have you in your new home in less than a month.”

            “Oh, O.K.  I guess I don’t really have a choice.”  By now, after hearing all of this, the spunk and cheerfulness in Sweetie’s voice had dwindled to nothing.  She now sounded like a boring monotone that had no purpose in life.  Her hair was messy, not the usual styled and nicely brushed.  Her eyes drooped, bags underneath them.  She looked like she had just instantly aged fifteen years.

            Obediently, Sweetie followed Avery out the door, with Walter trailing behind.  As she passed the Sheriff and his wife, she glanced at them and made an effort to smile in thanks.  The three of them stepped out into the dazzling sunlight, which now seemed pale, no where as brilliant as before.  Sweetie looked around the town square.  All shops were closed, except for the town hall, or local church, where, Sweetie figured, the town was gathering to talk about funerals and safety precautions for the future.

            They made their way back to Sweetie’s house and she promptly gathered all of her things.  She didn’t take much, only a few photographs, some clothes, and her favorite books (believe it or not, none of them included her famous pie recipe).  She stood in her doorway and gazed at the breathtaking view for the last time.  It represented the perfect house in the perfect town, with the perfect people, and a not so perfect end.  She made her way to the road and took her last look down the road of her past.  Then she slid into the car, closed the door with a THUMP, and rode away forever.

            “That was the last I saw of her,” Clara sighed.  “All I ever knew was what was in the papers.  I didn’t even notice that she had completely gone until she didn’t turn up for the Ernihimer’s funeral three days later.  Also, from the fact that she had just left her three favorite children out in the cold, with no home, food, money, or shelter.  Most thought that Sweetie was logical person to gain custody of the three, since she was the only one that had constant contact with the family.  ”

            “I remember that,” Ernie added.  He rested his chin in the palm of his left hand and closed his eyes.  After a long moment, he opened them again and continued.  “All of the town’s emotion escaped somehow.  I myself was young and didn’t really understand, but my parents did.  They didn’t seem themselves, and they were always talking to the neighbors; it was like I didn’t even exist.  Their moods were always somber, there were frowns on their faces, and my mother didn’t have that unique sparkle in her eyes.  It was all due to Sweetie’s absence.”  Still people were listening intently.  Most bowed their heads in remembrance, while others stared at a picture or autographed record on the one of the diner’s far walls.  Clara looked at the floor in silence.  It was awkward enough, but she knew that some wanted to know more.

            “I still don’t know anything more than I did then, and I suggest that I never will.  You just can’t help wondering where she is now.  Whether she is a successful person, whether she is happily married with kids, or whether she is lonely.”  Clara stared off into space, picturing the different possibilities.  “Well, I guess there is no way of actually knowing.  We’ll just have to imagine.”

            It had been almost 25 years since Miss Sandy Jones had become Mrs. Betty Saunders.  Yes, she was happily married and had four wonderful children.  Their names were Cadis, Polly, Ralph, and Ephraim.  Her husband was a successful lawyer and worked in one of the best firms in all of San Francisco.

            Betty had all anyone could ever ask for.  She had a gorgeous home with modern designs and recent technology.  They lived in Half Moon Bay, California right on the waterfront.  The Saunders’ had a private deck equipped with a boat, fishing poles, a diving board, and a water trampoline.  All four of her children were enrolled in school and were the most popular kids there. Betty herself was the most fashionable and admired woman in their part of town and was the person that made all other women jealous.

            Even with all of this, Betty still deeply wished that she had remained Sandy Jones.  She missed the tradition, the laughter, the feeling of being free-spirited.  Most of all, she missed her house; the small wooden cottage on the peaceful hill, with the breathtaking view.  She missed the nightly strolls down the road to return home to a cozy fire and familiar pictures of friends and family, all of whom she wasn’t allowed to contact.  The one thing, though, that she had only done once, in all of those 25 years, was make a pie.  It was something that bothered her.  She wanted to leave that for Sweetie; it was her “thing” and couldn’t bear to go through all of the emotion again.

            Three years ago, right around Thanksgiving time, Betty’s husband had asked her to make an apple pie for dinner.  Betty swallowed hard but agreed, trying not to show weakness.  During the process, she pounded the dough harder than it need to be, put in either too much or too little ingredients, and over baked it, so that the final pie turned out completely black.  When she saw it, she collapsed onto her knees and balled.  Her husband had rushed to her side, and gently led her to the sofa in the family room.  He sat with her until she had fallen asleep.  When she woke up, Betty continued to cry for hours at a time, and had made herself scarce that night at dinner.  She knew that her husband wouldn’t understand, because he thought that she was upset because she burnt it.  For Betty, it went much deeper than that.  The pie was a reminder of Sweetie’s life and when she saw how black it was, she knew that she would never be able to have that again.  Betty knew that she had to move on, but she also knew that making pies was something that she needed to leave behind.

            Betty sat in her room and stared out the window from her favorite chair.  It was the only piece of furniture that she had brought from her home in Harrisonville.  Whenever she needed to sit down and think, Betty would wrap a blanket around her chilled arms, curl up in the chair, and gently rock, as she looked out the window toward the view of the ocean at sunset.  The shades of pink, orange, and red, blended together perfectly.  It resembled peacefulness, security, and love.  It made Betty feel at home, like nothing could go wrong and that she would always be safe.

            This particular night was the18th of June, Juniper Day.  Betty, or Sandy, had chosen this day for her new birthday.  It was a day that she definitely didn’t want to forget.  Remembering the day filled her heart with warmth and joy.  She coughed softly as a tiny tear drizzled down her lightly bronzed cheek.

              Just then, there was a soft knock on the door and a small voice spoke.

            “Mommy?  Dinner’s ready.”  Her youngest, Polly, squeezed her tiny head through the door.  Her sweet, innocent eyes met her mother’s.

            “O.K. sweetie, thank you.”  Betty instantly stood up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and stretched out her long lean body. 

            “Mommy, why are you sad?”  Polly now stepped all the way through the door and began her way towards her mother to give her a hug.

            “Um,” Betty stuttered, wiping her eyes one final time, “I’m not sad honey--?”

            “Well, then why were you crying?”  She looked up to her mother, arms still clamped around her legs.  Betty lifted Polly into her arms and squeezed her tight.  She held her daughter there for a minute, and took a seat in her rocking chair.

            “I wasn’t crying sad tears Pol, I was crying happy tears!”  She stroked her long fingers threw Polly’s sleek hair.

            “Why did you do that?”  Polly focused on something far in the distant and fiddled with her hands as her Betty gently answered her question.

            “Well sweetie, I was crying happy tears because I love you so much, and wouldn’t trade you for the world.”  It took Betty a while to think about the last part of that sentence.  She really wouldn’t trade her new life for anything.  If she loved it so much, how come she still longed to be Sweetie?  Betty snapped back to reality and took three deep breaths.  “Now, why don’t you go downstairs and help your father with any last minute things.  Tell him I’ll be down in one minute.”  She loosened her grip on her child and let her slide off of her knees.  Polly trotted out the door and thumped her way down the stairs.  Betty giggled quietly as she watched her go and glimpsed at the ocean one last time, then swiftly made her way through the door.  As the light, tan mahogany door clicked behind her, she realized that, that was the end to her dreaming of her old life.

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*THE END*