Bodark Creek - 41. Chapter 41

When the mill closed, everyone was surprised, and nobody was surprised.

“I never thought it would happen,” Dougie said.

“I can’t imagine the town without it,” Rosalind agreed. “It’s just always been there.”

“It’s not like the building’s going away,” I told them. “And maybe it will only be closed for a year, like the last time.”

“That would be great,” Dougie admitted. “Maybe someone will buy the place and get it really going again.”

But that didn’t happen. The mill closed and stayed closed. For a while, the owners went on trying to sell it, first as a business, then for the land with the old buildings attached.

“That’ll never work,” Walter predicted. “It’d cost more to clean the place out than it would to knock it down and start over.”

“And no one wants that kind of factory anymore,” Dougie added. “It’s not even air conditioned.”

“It never was that hot,” Rosalind said.

“Oh, come on, sis. We were always miserable in the heat. But we had no choice but to keep on.”

“I still miss it,” Rosalind said.

And the town missed it. For years, the mill was its biggest business, and it kept a lot of people working. That changed some after the war. But even after some people lost their jobs and others retired, the mill kept more people working than any other place in town.

“What’s gonna replace it?” Rosalind asked. “The town needs to find a new business.”

“I don’t know,” Del told her. “We’re still the county seat. That brings in a certain amount of work. And the college is getting bigger. The hospital’s growing. And maybe a lot of little businesses, like the one we’ve got, can take the place of one larger one.”

“It’s more stable,” Neal added. “I mean, every little business isn’t gonna go broke at the same time. And every store hires at least a couple of people.”

“You want to hire me?” Rosalind asked them, though she seemed to be kidding.

“I thought you were doing fine,” I said.

“I am. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to do in an office.”

After the mill closed, the other thing the owners did was to continue to rent the houses. First, they said that anyone who was living in one could stay and just go on paying what they had been. Then they said that any house that was empty was for rent. The only problem was that almost no one was interested. Partly because there were better houses, as cheap. And partly because there was no reason to come to town. Soon, some of the mill houses started to fall apart.

“That’s a shame,” Del said, one afternoon when we were visiting Rosalind. While she and I chatted, Del had been out walking the neighborhood.

“The mill has no choice,” Dock told him. “They have no money.”

“I wonder if they’d consider selling,” Del asked.

“Who’d buy?”

Del would. He was interested in a couple of the houses. “Neal and I need places to live,” he said. “ With Joann and her kids, our house is getting mighty tight. Neal and Val could buy a place. Susan and I could buy one. And we could get a third, between the two, for the insurance office.”

“I don’t think the mill would sell,” Dock said.

But they did. It turned out that no one had asked before. They sold a couple of houses at a time, first as far from the mill as possible, to keep the land in one piece. Then they started selling any house they could, to the people who’d been living in them.

“Rosalind and Dock would really like to buy their house,” I told Martin one evening. “But you know they don’t have the money.”

“It’s kind of Dock’s fault,” Martin said. “If he’d been working all these years...”

“There’s no point blaming Rosalind for that.”

“I’m not. It’s just...”

“And with everyone suddenly making investments...”

Martin laughed at that. “You’re starting to sound like the boys. You’re starting to believe them. Del and Neal and all their darned insurance schemes.”

They weren’t schemes, but I knew what Martin meant. He thought that people only deserved the money they worked very hard to make. And while he knew that our sons worked hard on our farms, he wished they weren’t also fooling around in some office. Still, I said something to Dougie about Rosalind’s house, though it turned out he already knew. And he’d already spoken to Walter.

“It’s not like we don’t want to help Rosalind,” they told me. “But it would be just like Dock to turn around and sell the place if we bought it for them.”

“Rosalind wouldn’t let him do that.”

“You never know with Dock,” Dougie said, grinning. “He’s been able to convince her to do a lot of other things.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like marry him in the first place,” he said, grinning some more. “That was a mistake. Rosalind could have done lots better.”

I had to laugh. “They’ve been happily married for over thirty years,” I said. “How could she have done better?”

“How could Dock not be happy?” Dougie asked. “He hasn’t had to work most of his life. Heck, put me in that situation, and I’d be happy, too.”

“You are happy,” I said. “You were with Virginia, and you are with Leona.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he went on. “Rosalind could’ve had a real husband, one with a steady job. And she could’ve had more children.”

“That’s all this family needs,” I joked.

“Yeah, I guess we’ve all done fairly well there,” Dougie admitted. “Daddy began it, and the rest of us just kept up. We should have another reunion sometime, to get the latest count.”

So he and Walter bought the house for Rosalind and Dock. Martin and I put something towards it, too, though not a lot because we had Joann to think of. Dougie tried to convince us all to put the house in Rosalind’s name, but we talked him out of it.

“It’ll just cause trouble,” Martin advised. “Dock knows how you and Walter feel about him, but why point it out? Just give them the house. If Dock sells it, well, we’re all gonna be dead in ten years anyhow.”

“Who’s gonna be dead?” Walter asked. “I’m just a teeny baby. I’ve got at least fifteen years to go.”

“And maybe another wife,” Dougie kidded.

“Don’t bet against that.”

But Walter was happily married, too, and his youngest daughter was only thirteen. He wasn’t going anywhere.

And neither was the mill. It just sat there. Empty. Haunted, the children began to say, though I’d never heard anything about that.

“If it’s haunted, it’s only by good memories,” Walter pointed out. “I’m not sure anyone’s even died in there.”

“Mama did,” I said. “My mama.”

I’d managed to embarrass Walter in a way I hadn’t intended.

“I didn’t mean that,” he stuttered.

“I know,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

“And I’m sure, even if your mama was a ghost, that she’d have the good sense not to hang around an old cotton mill. She’d probably be haunting her old garden. Or out walking in the woods, with Sonny.”

“Now that’d be a picture,” Dougie said. “Your mama in her early fifties, and Sonny in his seventies. They probably wouldn’t even recognize each other.”

“Not when you think how young we all were. I mean, when she died,” Walter said. “I couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.”

“Thirty,” I counted.

“Was I really? It seems so long ago.”

“Sonny would’ve been thirty-six.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t think he was close to your mama’s age.”

“I still miss her,” I said. “The older I get, the more I think of how much we had in common.”

“I can’t even remember what she looked like,” Dougie admitted. “Outside of old pictures. I can’t picture my mama, either, but I remember Virginia. And we hardly have any pictures of her at all.”

“Virginia was very pretty.”

“Maybe. Maybe for those days. But not compared to women you see today.”

“Women today are really something,” Walter joked. “Women today would kill both our mamas.”

I laughed, but quickly added, “My daughters are some of the women you see today. And so are yours.”

“Not mine,” Dougie said. “Doris... my oldest... She’s almost older than your mama was.”

“She isn’t. Is she?”

“Even my granddaughters are getting up there.”

“But they’re all beautiful,” Walter said.

Dougie laughed. Walter always had an eye for pretty ladies. And he didn’t care if they were family.