velvet.
“It drives as good as it looks.”
Once more startled by someone interrupting his solitary moments with the car, George glanced across the front seat to the open passenger window. Leaning in was a man in a pinstriped suit about same color as the Packard’s upholstery.
“My name’s Samuel Johns. I was Mrs. Watling’s attorney. She was sure proud of this car.”
“There’s a lot to be proud of,” George agreed. “Don’t see many like this in Oakwood or even Danville. I guess you’d have to go to Springfield or Chicago to find more than a half dozen. And I doubt there is another in the state this color.”
“No, the color was a special order,” the attorney explained. “And you’re right, most folks are a bit too practical to drive something like this in this town.”
“Or too poor,” George added.
“Well there is that, too,” Johns agreed. “You thinking about making an offer?”
George shook his head, “No, just dreaming. We just had a baby this morning, so dreaming is all I can afford to do.”
Patting the steering wheel a final time, George eased out of the car. As he closed the door, an elderly man approached.
“I wouldn’t buy that automobile if it were the last vehicle on this planet,” he loudly announced to no one in particular. Then looking at George, the stranger added, “I knew Abbi pretty much all her life. I’ll tell you this, it wasn’t her heart that killed her; it was this car. She’d still be with us if she hadn’t bought that Packard.”
“Frank,” a man in a blue suit, white shirt, and black tie laughed as he joined them, “you don’t really believe that. You’re in my congregation every Sunday morning. You’ve got to have more faith than to believe owning a car can kill you.”
As if buying time to organize his thoughts, the old man ran his bony hand over his balding head before replying, “When it comes to this Packard, I think it’s cursed. That man at the dealership who got killed when this vehicle fell on him was my nephew. Good young man, too! He and his wife had a baby. That lift had never failed before, and it hasn’t failed since. How do you explain that, Reverend Morris?”
“I don’t explain it,” he replied, his voice soft and reassuring, “but I’m guessing that your nephew might have done something that caused the lift to fall, maybe he didn’t set the locking mechanism. I do know this: that car didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Believe what you want,” Frank muttered just before stomping back to the main part of the barn.
No one spoke until the little man was well out of earshot. It was the attorney who finally broke the silence. “Preacher, you thinking about buying the car?”
“I’d love to own it,” the middle-aged clergyman replied, “I’ve wanted a Packard since I was a kid. My Grandpa once owned one of the Packard twin-six models. That was about the time of the war. But I’m going to pass on this one. Just don’t have the money right now.”
The preacher forced a grin, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned his head toward George. “I found out a few minutes ago that you’ve got a daughter. I figure that gives you an excuse to miss church tomorrow morning, but we are looking forward to having you and Carole bring that little one real soon. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to showing our Rose off. She is a pretty one!”
Patting the new father on the shoulders, the preacher added, “I’m sure she is. You take care. I need to get back over and grab a seat for the auction. Molly wants me to buy a sideboard for her.”
Morris ambled back toward the front of the building, once more leaving George alone with Johns. Both stared at the vehicle for some time before George broke the silence. “So I take it you don’t believe that the car’s cursed?”
“What’s your name, son?”
“George Hall.”
Johns propped his foot on the front bumper and leaned over until
“It drives as good as it looks.”
Once more startled by someone interrupting his solitary moments with the car, George glanced across the front seat to the open passenger window. Leaning in was a man in a pinstriped suit about same color as the Packard’s upholstery.
“My name’s Samuel Johns. I was Mrs. Watling’s attorney. She was sure proud of this car.”
“There’s a lot to be proud of,” George agreed. “Don’t see many like this in Oakwood or even Danville. I guess you’d have to go to Springfield or Chicago to find more than a half dozen. And I doubt there is another in the state this color.”
“No, the color was a special order,” the attorney explained. “And you’re right, most folks are a bit too practical to drive something like this in this town.”
“Or too poor,” George added.
“Well there is that, too,” Johns agreed. “You thinking about making an offer?”
George shook his head, “No, just dreaming. We just had a baby this morning, so dreaming is all I can afford to do.”
Patting the steering wheel a final time, George eased out of the car. As he closed the door, an elderly man approached.
“I wouldn’t buy that automobile if it were the last vehicle on this planet,” he loudly announced to no one in particular. Then looking at George, the stranger added, “I knew Abbi pretty much all her life. I’ll tell you this, it wasn’t her heart that killed her; it was this car. She’d still be with us if she hadn’t bought that Packard.”
“Frank,” a man in a blue suit, white shirt, and black tie laughed as he joined them, “you don’t really believe that. You’re in my congregation every Sunday morning. You’ve got to have more faith than to believe owning a car can kill you.”
As if buying time to organize his thoughts, the old man ran his bony hand over his balding head before replying, “When it comes to this Packard, I think it’s cursed. That man at the dealership who got killed when this vehicle fell on him was my nephew. Good young man, too! He and his wife had a baby. That lift had never failed before, and it hasn’t failed since. How do you explain that, Reverend Morris?”
“I don’t explain it,” he replied, his voice soft and reassuring, “but I’m guessing that your nephew might have done something that caused the lift to fall, maybe he didn’t set the locking mechanism. I do know this: that car didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Believe what you want,” Frank muttered just before stomping back to the main part of the barn.
No one spoke until the little man was well out of earshot. It was the attorney who finally broke the silence. “Preacher, you thinking about buying the car?”
“I’d love to own it,” the middle-aged clergyman replied, “I’ve wanted a Packard since I was a kid. My Grandpa once owned one of the Packard twin-six models. That was about the time of the war. But I’m going to pass on this one. Just don’t have the money right now.”
The preacher forced a grin, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned his head toward George. “I found out a few minutes ago that you’ve got a daughter. I figure that gives you an excuse to miss church tomorrow morning, but we are looking forward to having you and Carole bring that little one real soon. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to showing our Rose off. She is a pretty one!”
Patting the new father on the shoulders, the preacher added, “I’m sure she is. You take care. I need to get back over and grab a seat for the auction. Molly wants me to buy a sideboard for her.”
Morris ambled back toward the front of the building, once more leaving George alone with Johns. Both stared at the vehicle for some time before George broke the silence. “So I take it you don’t believe that the car’s cursed?”
“What’s your name, son?”
“George Hall.”
Johns propped his foot on the front bumper and leaned over until
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