T. McClure - An Allegheny Homecoming

Not even a pet. Meaning, no dog. Ms. King, the headhunter who’d found her the Atlanta anchor job that had unfortunately not happened, the woman who was still out there searching for Wendy’s big chance, had left Wendy with a mantra. The words echoed in her head. Oliver had filled the need for a pet, but now he was gone, leaving her with the blue jays and cardinals in the backyard.

She stared at the overcast sky. Mrs. Hershberger had referred to Wendy as “our weather girl,” but the truth was, the Valentine family had been part of the Bear Meadows population for less than ten years. Before that, her father’s computer security business had kept them in Philadelphia, but after selling and settling into an early, comfortable retirement, her parents had decided to move to central Pennsylvania. Wendy had been at Penn State by then and one of the few people in town the first-grade teacher hadn’t taught.

Unlike her father, who had retired in his mid fifties, Mrs. Hershberger had continued to teach into her late sixties. The warm, friendly teacher would have made a great mom, possibly better than her own mother, who’d found herself pregnant at forty and not that interested in motherhood. Wendy sometimes felt her parents had been a couple so long that they forgot they had a child.

The blue jay hopped farther up the tree.

“If you had a story to tell, I’d interview you, but I think you’re safe, Mr. Jay.” Wendy laughed as the blue-and-white-striped bird with the crested head chirped in reply.

She had to think of something to draw the attention of the big affiliates. Would Walt ever allow her time to interview someone? And if he did, who would she interview? Her parents? Her parents may like living in the rural countryside of central Pennsylvania, but they craved the excitement of exotic places. Maybe a series on unusual travel destinations? Atlanta had been tantalizingly close. Katherine King had been as disappointed as she when the offer didn’t materialize. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Wendy. Try to break out from weather. It’s only a matter of time.”

She had tried. Last fall she had covered every game of the Bear Meadows football team. Her one attempt to dig deeper into a story had almost cost her a friendship. She had been interviewing the chief of police after some teenagers were caught stealing from stores in the strip mall. Something had prompted her to ask him about his dismissal from the Raleigh police force, which she had only come upon after looking the new police chief up on the internet. His normally pleasant demeanor had turned to stone.

Only later did she find out he had blamed himself for the death of his wife. Rather than going for milk himself, his wife had driven, unaccustomed to snow-covered roads, and crashed the car. He began drinking, and was asked to leave the police force. That was all behind him now, but no, she would not be interviewing Chief McAndrews.

She could interview the Smith brothers. Their farm was just a few miles from her parents’ property. The seventy-year-old twin brothers had never married and lived on the family homestead all their lives. Two years ago they had begun selling handmade turkey calls and become an internet sensation. Skinny would be the easier of the two to interview. Hawkeye rarely said a word. Hawkeye remained a mystery. What was his story?

Her thoughts of potential interviewees was interrupted by the ringing of her phone from inside the house. When she jumped out of the rocker, the blue jay flew off, squawking in alarm. The phone lay on the edge of the kitchen’s island countertop. “Hello?” she answered.

“I need you to do the six o’clock.” No greeting, just Walt’s gravelly voice.

“Where’s Mark?” Glancing out the window, she noted the fluffy flakes of a few minutes earlier had increased in size and intensity. She could no longer see the garden shed from the kitchen window.

“You can do a remote.”

Apparently Mark’s whereabouts were none of her business. “Did you have something in mind?”

“The power’s out in Bear Meadows. They’re opening the church basement for people. Go there, report the weather and how people are coping. Don’t try to get fancy.”

“I don’t have—”

“Phil will meet you. He’ll do the camera work. I want him to get some shots of the roads, maybe go up to the interstate and see how traffic is moving. Then he can bring everything back for the late report.”

Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. Sending the cameraman would make the assignment much easier. “Sure thing, Walt. Thanks.”

“You got it, kid. Be careful driving.” And without another word he was gone.

Wendy clicked off. She glanced at the cuckoo clock over the sink, a souvenir her parents had brought back after a trip to Bavaria two years earlier. She had just enough time to change, so without a moment to spare she dashed upstairs. She stared into her closet and debated the best look for outdoor reporting in a blizzard. Or should she report from inside the church? Figuring she wouldn’t be outside long, she pulled on skinny jeans and a royal blue sweater. Her tall black boots and the station’s monogrammed quilted jacket should get her from her car to the church basement.

Given the front-wheel drive, her car did fairly well in the snow. But who knew how quickly the roads would be plowed? The latest forecast indicated a crazy storm was on its way. And who knew that better than she?

* * *

HE TRIED EACH of the other four shops next to the bakery. A computer shop, a consignment shop, the coffee shop and finally his friend Megan’s hair salon. He peered into the window and could barely make out the two chairs and mirrors. He strolled along the boardwalk, his attention now on the other side of the street. The bank and the hardware store were, of course, closed. Despite the covering of snow, he could tell the vacant lot had been renovated. Three benches were scattered among the new landscaping. This end of town had certainly improved since his last trip home.

He retraced his steps to his truck and brushed off the snow that had already accumulated on his windshield. Bank, hardware store, new park, library. Leaning on his truck bed, he studied the facade of the former carriage house that had been the home of the library for all the years he was a student. As he looked closer at the window, he could make out the design of a large cup with a thin handle. Crossing the slippery street, he glanced to his right. At the end of the street, the stoplight swung wildly in the blustery wind.

Someone had converted the old library into a tea shop. Tea for You. He wondered if he should try the door and then knew he would question himself if he didn’t. Grasping the doorknob, he turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open. Snow blew past him and landed on the runner leading from the door to a counter. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Hello?”

At least in his mother’s place of business his presence had been justified. Here, he felt like an interloper. He came farther into the room. The checkout counter had been refinished. A stained-glass lamp graced the top. Round tables and chairs were scattered through the space. Continuing through the shop, he passed a wall of loose teas in glass jars. He entered a kitchen area. The interior back door was wide open.

Josh stepped onto the back porch. Through the massive oak grove on the far side of the parking lot, the outline of the old mansion was barely visible. Dr. Reed’s home.

One car remained in the parking lot, covered with at least six inches of snow. He remembered his father telling him the building had been a carriage house, with horses and carriages on the ground floor, while the upper floor had been living quarters for the grooms. When they created the parking lot, they had to provide a basement entrance to the original ground floor. Josh walked to the edge of the porch.