Yarn Shop Tale # 10 (newest!)

Spring arrived in Peaks Ville overnight, the way it often did. Main Street was clearing itself of winter's grime with soft and sometimes driving rains.  Robins, fat and sassy, chirped in the blossoming plum trees in the garden plaza next to the Post Office. The grass, suddenly green and tall, brought out the city mowers. The smell of fresh cut grass gave hope for warmer days and sunshine.

Doreen briskly swept the doorway of the pawn shop, making her way out onto the sidewalk, and out around both pine wood planter boxes Dale had built for her the year before. She stopped sweeping briefly to peer into the planter nearest her. A variety of spring bulbs were making their appearance in the planter boxes and Doreen knew she hadn't put them there. It had to have been Dale and one of his many overtures of watching out for her. Bless that man, if he didn't think of the sweetest things. A smile gently tugged in the corners of Doreen's mouth.

At the end of the street, Peaks Ville's town bum strolled toward "The Peak". Doreen snickered inwardly at the thought of how Sybil might feel about Scruffy Stanley sitting at one of her tables inside the restaurant. Scruffy was harmless, yet an eccentric person, though most everyone accepted him as he was. A few even looked out for him, helping to get his winter supply of firewood each fall and taking food to him throughout the winter months, while he was house bound.

Scruffy lived in a run down shack, along the river, at the edge of town. No one washed his clothes or cleaned his house, as far as Doreen knew. One could usually smell Scruffy before they saw him. People often joked about it. Mothers would scold their children, using Scruffy's image and odor as an example. They said things like, "Wash all your head, especially your ears. You don't want to be like Scruffy."

Regardless of people and their prejudices, come spring, one could find Scruffy walking into town pulling his Red Flyer Wagon. He went directly to the Post Office for mail he kept on hold and then to the grocery store. After buying a few cans of beans, a bag of rice, some potatoes, and a little dried fruit, Scruffy pulled his wagon down Main Street taking in the changes winter may have given to its face. He'd usually end his tour at the restaurant with a bowl of soup, then head back along the trail that led to his home.

Doreen noticed his hesitation as he approached "The Peak". She supposed the new name looked odd to Scruffy. Brock, the prior owner and Scruffy had been old chums. It must be hard on him now to see the diner turned into a more modern restaurant. Doreen hoped Sybil and Ben would give Scruffy a bowl of soup with out all that fancy seasoning they usually used.

Inside the restaurant, Scruffy chose the booth he always did when he came to town. He knew his old buddy, Brock, was gone, Dale Olsen had seen to getting Scruffy to the funeral, but he didn't figure on how the place had changed through the winter. He missed the familiar atmosphere of Brock's food and comfortable ways. Everything looked squeaky clean and sterile. He felt out of place with the utilitarian looking light hanging over his table. At least the booth was the same, still had the tear on the far end toward the wall and it was still fire engine red.

A short, young thing stood at his table holding a pen and order pad. She looked nice, Scruffy thought, Kinda had that fresh, bored look the youth did these days. She said,"What can I get for you today? Would you like to see the menu?"

Two questions on a pile. Why did everyone have to hurry through conversation? Scruffy wondered as he shifted uncomfortably and scratched his head a little above his right ear."I would like a bowl of soup and some crackers," he stated calmly, as he leveled his gaze on Sybil.

"Do you care what kind of soup?"

"Nope. Just soup and crackers. Maybe a piece of bread."

In the kitchen, Sybil asked Ben to take a look at the customer and judge what kind of soup the man would possibly want. After looking through the window, Ben snorted and said "What do you think? Wild Rice with Curry Chicken or Tomato Basil Bisque?" The panicked expression on Sybil's face let Ben know she didn't think the situation was funny. "I'm kidding!" Ben chucked Sybil under the chin. "Take him a basket of bread and a little butter. Don't worry. Relax. I'll stir together a simple pot of Chicken Noodle Soup. I can do basic stuff too, you know. Go, go, go!" Ben nudged her toward the bread.

Filled with relief and thankful for her husband's assessment of the situation Sybil prepared the basket of bread. Nearing the table once again, she heard the man muttering, "A rare old plant is the ivy green".

"You like poetry?" Sybil placed a glass of water neatly on the table with the basket of bread and butter.

"Some, that old piece was a Charles Dickens. He wrote better stories than poems. Don't know why that one in particular came to mind." Scruffy stuck out his hand, "I'm Stanley. Brock was my friend. I hear you people are relatives of his."

"I think you must have been looking at the library across the street." Sybil was met with a blank stare. "You know, the ivy climbing on that brick wall? I think that's what made you think of the poem. I had to memorize it once in a literature class."

"Oh, could be." Stanley snorted. "Guess I was thinking of how nothing stays the same anymore, sure do miss Brock. You kids kinda changed the place. Where's that ole cook stove? Used to be in the corner over there by the kitchen." Stanley pointed with his chin as he broke off a piece of bread and began smearing it with butter.

Sybil noticed his shaky hands and red rimmed eyes. His face, weathered and old, reminded her of old barn boards. There was strength and stability in his eyes, as if he had with stood many storms of life." I'll be back in a little with your soup." She'd already chatted an unusual amount. What was with her normal self today anyway? Something about the man captured her attention but she couldn't place why. Maybe it was the combination of poetry and poverty.

Ben took Stanley his soup when it was ready. Stanley invited him to sit down. He wanted to get a feel for Brock's relative, see what kind of person was running the diner. "Zat sweet young thing yur wife?" This first question was preceded by many more between slurps of soup. He was serious about wanting to know where Brock's stove was. He wanted it if no one was using it or needed it. He said he guessed Ben wasn't a half bad cook considering the soup tasted good enough to eat. He figured maybe Ben had a little of his uncle in him for being able to make food taste better than dishwater. He offered to show Ben a good place to catch trout a little upriver some day when he had the time.

Doreen happened to be watching as Scruffy came out of the diner. She saw Ben and Sybil come out on the sidewalk with him. It looked like they were shaking hands and saying polite goodbyes. Scruffy even took off his cap and bowed gracefully to Sybil. "Well!" Doreen harrumphed to herself. You just never could tell about people now could you? Just when you thought you could predict a person's reaction, they go and do a completely unpredictable thing. She was embarrassed at her interfering ways. She had hawked that front window for a good hour just to see what would happen and all she got was polite handshakes and boredom. "Dale!" she hollered, "I could use a job. I think I need more chores. What you got on that list of yours today?"