BITTERCREEK
by
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Two days later Cathy returned to Doc’s office. The dark circles under her eyes had almost disappeared. Her complexion had taken on a more natural hue. The fact she’d eaten some nourishing food added zing to her movements.
“You’re looking a hundred per-cent better than the last time I saw you,” Doc greeted her with jovial ring to his voice. “Let’s take some blood to test.”
While Doc was drawing the blood Cathy informed him.
“I’ve decided to give up my apartment at the Pastime and move in with my mother for a while. We had a wonderful time during the two days I spent there and are looking forward to many more.”
“You’ll never know how glad that makes me feel,” Doc smiled. “I’ve been concerned about your mother lately and I’m positive this is the best medicine she could have ever received.”
When the results of the blood test proved they had a match, Doc called Betty Hetrick. At first she was elated that they had found a donor until Doc informed her who that person was.
“No way, Doc,” she stated emphatically in an irritated voice. “I’m not about to allow the town drunk to pump blood into my child. You’ve got to be out of your mind to even think of such a thing.”
“Betty, Betty, Betty,” Doc admonished her shaking his head slowly, “you know I wouldn’t even think about doing this if I thought there was the remotest chance there would be a problem. Her blood is as safe as any you might obtain from a blood bank, or anyplace else, for that manner.”
“Oh, I trust you, Doc,” she wagged her hands in a frustrated gesture, “but just the thought of that woman giving blood to my child is revolting.”
“More revolting than attending your child’s funeral?” Doc turned his head to look at her out the corner of his eyes.
Betty’s head jerked back in amazement at his statement. Her mouth opened to speak though no words came out for a moment. She stared at Doc rapidly blinking her eyes trying to take control of her thoughts.
“There – there must be some other options open,” she stammered, when she could speak.
“Yes, there is and we’ve discussed them in the past,” Doc responded gently.
“But, she’s not only a drunk, she’s pretty loose in her ways,” Betty waved her hand. “You know what I mean, like who sleeps with her.”
“She’s never slept with Allen, if that’s what you’re alluding to,” Doc said in a tone of voice of a parent trying to impart wisdom to a child.
“How do you know that?” Betty shot back hotly. “Rumor has it,” ---- her voice trailed off.
“Because she told me she never did,” Doc’s voice rose displaying his irritation at her actions.
“How do you know she’s not a liar, too,” Betty spoke with emotion beginning to show in her speech.
“Who are you to judge her?” Doc made a nervous gesture with his hand. “I seem to have heard once upon a time that your life hasn’t been such a bed of roses. I firmly believe it wouldn’t have taken much to put you in the same shoes she’s wearing. Come on Betty, drop that pious attitude and let’s look at this thing in the light of the real world.”
Betty covered her face with her hands and started to cry.
“It’s so unfair, Doc,” she babbled through her hands.
“Who ever told you life was supposed to be fair,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
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BITTERCREEK
Isolated by the wheat fields that stretched for miles around it, the little town of
John Bourdine stood in the window of his barbershop with his newspaper in his hand, watching the town come alive. Moments before he returned the wave of pretty little Hope Dennison as she passed on her way to work at the bank. Earlier in the day, the truck from the depot had brought the day’s mail to the post office. Mary Gontain, the postmistress, had accepted the delivery. John waited giving her time to sort the mail then sauntered over and got the daily newspaper that had come in on the
By this time, Mike Tester had already made his usual morning visit, with a cup of coffee in his hand, to start the day. He opened his office at nine, but routinely came early enough to pop in to chat with John for a few moments before his day officially started. Needless to say, he would stop what he was doing and wander over at anytime of the day he didn’t have a customer, or whenever he considered something interesting might be going on.
John’s glance swept the street where he observed Dick Peddy sweeping the sidewalk in front of the Constables Office. Though law and order was considered to be his vocation, Dick had a side of him that dictated everything should be neat and tidy. Over in front of the Pastime stood Sonny Young’s pick up truck indicating he and his brother Lowell were in town pounding down a few. The harvest was over and the wheat checks were in. Common practice around these parts was for the farmers to gravitate into town to wash the dust of the summer toils from their throats once the harvest was completed. Additionally, some of the field hands had not moved on as yet and were hanging around spending some of the rewards for their toil.
From this vantage point the gossip of the town was hashed over and decisions concerning people’s opinion were formulated. This was small town life where secrets were something hard to hide. This account deals with some of the more diverse happenings, liberally sprinkled with anecdotes and humor depicting life in the tiny town of
About the Author
W.H. (BUD) Mallory was born in
His working career eventually led him to become an executive with a large aerospace firm.
Though focused on his work he still found time to pursue his leisure time activities that included travel, golf, camping, hunting and fishing.
Originally, the idea for a novel kept bouncing around in the back of his mind. While working on that original concept, he discovered a passion for writing.
When the opportunity arose, he left his employment to make transcribing the products of his vivid imagination into a series of fictional novels his main occupational focus.
To this date he has created, The Dummy, Affa, Beyond Silence, The Reunion, Affa II, Bittercreek, Out of the Inkwell, Nancy Rose, Utah Run, Second Bridge, The Twelve Eves of Eden and a Collection of Recipes.