Part 3

A Gathering of Angels
by Katherine Valentine

(Page 3 of 4)

Father James arrived at the Country Kettle and pushed open the front door. Aromatic smells filled the air Harry's famous rich coffee, bacon smoked and cured right up the road in Goshen and home fries seasoned only as Harry could. Father James breathed in deeply, savoring the smells. It was like coming home.

In fact, everything about the County Kettle made you feel right at home, from the faded curtains on the front windows to the worn wooden floors. Mismatched plates and mugs made the customers feel more like they were visiting a favorite relative's house than a restaurant. In fact, since Harry bought most of his dishes at local tag sales, practically everyone could point to some plate, saucer, cup or mug that had once graced their own kitchen tables.

The windowsills were filled with live potted flowers. The walls were covered with various needlework designs donated by the town's women. A carved bear, made by one of Chester Platt's men with a chain saw one day as he waited for a shipment of lumber, stood guard right outside the door. It wore a brightly colored scarf that changed with the seasons.

Father James headed toward the front counter just as Harry Clifford began to clean the grill after the breakfast rush. Several waitresses scurried about, clearing off the tables and booths filled with stacks of dirty dishes and empty coffee cups. Among them was Harry's newest waitress, Wendy Davis.

Wendy had arrived in Dorsetville four months ago. She and her husband, Harold, had bought the Cape Cod on the edge of town that had once belonged to Arlene Campbell's Aunt Cybil, who died two years ago. The house was situated on the northern portion of Main Street right before the turn-off onto Route 7. It had once been a cute little place with a white picket fence and a small orchard of apple trees in the back. But since Cybil's husband's death, the place had been allowed to run down.

Wendy's husband, Harold, a top-notch machine mechanic, had been transferred in early May from New York to a tool-and-die plant over in Gaylordsville. They had been in their new home for less than three months when Wendy went in search of a job. Their house needed a host of repairs, including a new wood-shingled roof. If they didn't want water pouring in through the ceiling this winter, Wendy knew she had better find work, a premise that didn't bother her a bit. She had never been a stay-at-home kind of gal.

Wendy, just shy of her thirty-eighth birthday, had waitressed since she was sixteen. Unlike other women who considered waiting tables a route to another career, waitressing was a career for Wendy and she took pride in it. Her white rubber-soled shoes were polished every night after supper; her crisp white uniforms were spotless; and her apron pockets carried her favorite twenty-five-dollar pen and a package of Life Savers breath mints. She wore her red hair (Clairol's Nice 'n Easy, Natural Copper Red #109) tied at the nape of the neck in a neat ponytail and neutral-colored polish on her neatly trimmed nails.

When Wendy spied Harry's ad for a waitress in the Dorsetville Gazette she had wasted no time in applying. The résumé that she had handed Harry stated that she was a "Professional Waitress." Harry had never met a professional waitress before, but he could see at a glance that Wendy had a great deal of experience. Listed were several diners in and around New York City, the ones that had menus that stretched on for six or seven pages and offered everything from hamburgers and fries to sole amandine. He had hired her on the spot.

The next day, Wendy arrived promptly at 6 a.m. She asked a few questions: Where did they keep the extra bags of coffee? What did he charge for two eggs, bacon and toast? Then she dove right into the morning melee. Both Harry and Lori had watched with amazement as Wendy sailed through the morning rush, working both the front tables and the entire counter. By eight o'clock, she had taken on the takeout orders as well.

"You call that a rush?" she had asked when it was over, looking just as fresh as when she had arrived, every hair in place, her uniform spotless.

"More like a trickle back from where I come," she said, refilling the salt and pepper shakers. Everyone else looked as though they were about to collapse.

There was, however, one thing about Wendy that worried Harry. Her thick New York accent and "Don't mess with me" attitude scared most of his locals, including the St. Cecilia's regular morning crowd. Ethel Johnson had taken Harry aside and requested that Lori wait on them.

"Fred Campbell can't understand a word she says and my sweet Honey (Ethel's beloved golden retriever) won't come out from underneath the table when she's near."

Wendy even scared Father James, who was relieved to see her taking her morning break as he strolled in. He headed toward the front counter and sat down on a red vinyl-covered stool.

"Any coffee left?" Father James asked hopefully, directing this query to Harry, who was working hard cleaning the grill. Just one cup shouldn't bother his intestines that much.

"Sure, help yourself," Harry said from behind the grill. "I think Lori just finished making a new pot."

"Nice try, Father James," Lori Peterson said before he had even risen off his stool. "You know the doctor said that caffeine's out. How about a cup of herbal tea? You like the Lemon Balm I gave you last time?"

Hopes dashed, he lied and said he'd love a cup.

Lori placed Father James's tea on the counter. He stared at the mug, which bore a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. Who in Dorsetville had vacationed there? he wondered.

The phone rang as Wendy was walking back toward the kitchen. "Hello, Country Kettle Restaurant."

The greeting seemed a little off in Wendy's New York accent, Father James thought.

"Hey, Harry. It's Nellie Anderson. Says she's at school. She can only talk a minute."

"I'll take it in the back," Harry said, wiping his hands on his apron, then practically running down Pedro, the dishwasher, as he charged through the kitchen door.

"I'd say someone is in love," Wendy mused, replacing the receiver, then heading outside for her midmorning cigarette.

Father James glanced over at Lori. Both smiled. Harry and Nellie had been dating since early spring and, by the looks of things, it was getting serious. This love affair had become the main topic of conversation in Dorsetville.

"Hello, Father James," Lori's daughter Sarah said, walking by. She had a dishcloth in her hand, a towel tied around her waist and her curly blond hair was tied back behind a pink polka-dot babushka. She looked like a miniature serving wench.

"Did you finish wiping off those side tables, Sarah?" her mother asked.

"Yes. Can I go in the back and color now? I'm bored." Coloring was Sarah's favorite pastime. The Peterson house had her pictures hung everywhere. Even Uncle Harry had several tacked up around the restaurant.

"Wouldn't you rather stay out here and visit with me and Father James?"

Sarah looked down at the floor and shook her head no.

"All right. You can go in the back but stay out of Pedro's way."

Lori watched her daughter head toward the kitchen with deep concern, then poured herself a cup of coffee and settled alongside Father James.

"I feel so guilty at having to drag Sarah to work each morning while school's out for summer vacation," Lori lamented. "There's not an awful lot for a seven-year-old to do around here."

© 2004 Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam, used by permission.

About the Author

Katherine Valentine is an American folk artist who has been a regular guest on Lifetime's Our Home show and an instructor with the New York City Museum of American Folk Art and the Brookfield (Connecticut) Craft Center. Her 1980 near-death experience, the subject of several books, has been featured on television shows, including Good Morning America.