Now honey-child, what are you gonna do…

“Now honey-child, what are you gonna do when you have to start cookin’ for folks at your place?” Mable asked and tsked as she poured Jessie a thick cup of coffee.

Mable was what Jessie called a Chancy Character. Four foot eleven, if that, and as wiry as a willow in her Levi jeans, Mable was 70-ish and as rough around the edges as she was sweet. She took great pride in knowing “ever person and critter” in Chancy, and their business.

Jessie took a sip of the coffee and cringed a little because it tasted like two-day-old diesel warmed over. Mable wasn’t exactly what you’d call a restaurateur.

“Well Maybe Baby,” Jessie dished back with a grin as set her coffee down, “I’m gonna give you a good run for your money.”

Mable chuckled at Jessie using Lou’s old nickname for her, and fussed with her circa 1962 beehive as she bustled about behind the counter. “Well you just go right ahead, gets too dang busy in here as is.”

Of course, that wasn’t hard to do. Mable’s Place was a little three-room building on the side of County Road 142 with all of about twelve seats in the joint. One room was for dining with two tables and four stools at the counter, one room was the kitchen, and the other was, as the sign above the door said, “answer the call of nature”.

Mable hollered back into the kitchen, “Now Joe-say don’t you forget that baby dog out front, take that handsome angel some scraps from yesterday.”

Mable was soft on Buck, like every other hound in town. Just about everybody in Chancy whether two-legged or four knew how to make their way to Mable’s. Other than the Dairy Queen, Mable’s Place was the only spot in town for a bite to eat and company since Creekside had closed when Bette took ill.

Jessie watched through the front door as Jose took Buck some scraps where he was tied to the front porch. Through the screen door she saw some of the locals pulling in for their breakfast. Most of the older locals came in about this time to sit around, talk politics and such. Jessie thought of these Chancy Characters as living almanacs. The first wave of customers, the farmers, had long come and gone from the café. Mable opened up at 4 a.m. to crank out bad coffee and great bacon for the early crowd.

This group ambling in was the patriarchs of Chancy. She vaguely recognized some of them, and knew as they nodded their greetings and waved hello to Mable that they already knew who she was as well as they knew Mable’s tried and true menu.

“Good looking dog you got there Jessie,” said a rugged old fellow from the table closest to the door, “What’s in him?”

Jessie tried to remember the old timer’s name, first name greetings called for first name greetings, “Um…well…probably healer and beagle?” she asked on a shrug.

“Mmm, mebe,” he replied. “So, got you a man to help out at Bette’s place yet?”

That got a snort out of Mable as she sat down Jessie’s plate of beautiful bacon and extra crispy eggs over easy. How can you cook bacon to perfection Jose and nothing else? Jessie thought to herself.

“Now Ernest Craw,” Mable emphasized his name and winked at Jessie, “She don’t need a man’s help out there. She’s a Hathaway don’t ya know?” Mable leaned over and whispered in Jessie’s ear “He got a nephew he’s trying to marry off, watch out.”

“Mr. Craw I’m just trying to get my bearings.” Jessie said with a smile, “Place has been closed up for four years now. I’ve got to review Bette’s books, clean up the place and pull together some marketing strategies and such.”

“I don’t know about drafting strategies or what you’ve got planned and what not, but I do know you’re gonna need a man’s help ‘round there,” Ernest leaned over on his knee as if he was revving up, “and I got somebody who could probably help ya along right nicely.”

As if on cue, Buck let out one hell of a howl and was hopping against the porch rail. He kept howling as Jessie slid off her stool at the counter and excused herself to see what was aggravating her baby dog.

Ernest shook his finger in his ear, “got some beagle in him alright.”

On the front porch, Buck was howling after a ’64 Ford pick-up truck turning off 142 onto Main Street. All Jessie caught a glimpse of was a plaid shirt, a neighborly wave and a beautiful beagle riding in the bed of the truck with its paws up on the side.

“Oooooh,” Jessie cooed as she ruffled Buck’s ears, “Isn’t it a little early in the morning to be picking up chicks handsome?”

She bent down and hugged his neck and looked back inside as Buck slathered her face in kisses. Another Chancy Character occupied Ernest’s attention and so Jessie went back in, wiped her face on her napkin and left Mable a five as she grabbed a few strips of bacon. “Keep the change Maybe Baby, I’ve gotta get started on my day. Thanks for Buck’s treat Jose!”

Ernest called after her as she pushed open the front door, “Now you come to services on Sunday and I’ll introduce you to a real handy man.” Then he gave her a wink, sipped his coffee and sputtered, “Mable you cheap ol’ nag put on a fresh pot of coffee!”

Jessie grinned as she untied Buck and headed to her truck. “You couldn’t dream up a bunch like this could you baby?”

Buck just hopped in the cab and thumped his tail ready for adventure.

She paused at the well-worn lace curtains and looked out over the vast yard…

She paused at the well-worn lace curtains and looked out over the vast yard, the gazebo and down towards the creek and sighed. Yup, little bit more than a two-story house. If she let herself wax poetic she’d describe Creekside as a testament to the resolution of southern women to rise up and meet the challenges that faced them. To provide for themselves, their communities and those they loved and protected. Ooh she should write that down in case she could use that on the website.

Jessie grinned as she thought of what lay ahead in getting Creekside back in business. Time to pump some fresh life into the place she thought and grinned – Aunt Bette would have if she could have. Jessie’s grin slipped away as her toes hit the cold baby blue tile of the bathroom floor. She hopped onto the fuzzy bathmat in front of the pedestal sink and rubbed her feet over each other as she blinked at herself in the mirror.

“Oh my,” she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and did her best Aunt Bette face, “better put some life back into that face first honey.”

She tugged the cuff of her well-worn TCU sweatshirt over her wrist and wiped at the smudge of dirt on the side of her cheek. She’d crashed and burned the night before, after cleaning out the storage under the stairwell. There had been no energy for a shower. How many canning jars could one body collect in a lifetime anyway?

With her agenda for the day already racing through her head she turned the water on in the shower, shucked down and hopped in. As she washed the grime away from her sandy blonde hair and stubborn Hathaway chin, she thought about how quickly life could change.

Just eight weeks ago she would have already turned on the morning news, taken her Starbucks double shot out of the mini-fridge in her bedroom, and be brushing her teeth as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Her talent for multi-tasking not only got her ready and in the car in record time (after catching the last possible wink of sleep of course), but also had propelled her up the ladder at Burston & Carver in record time. Just four short years from graduating with her masters of public relations (not just a BS, but a master of BS she liked to say) she had become the youngest member of the executive team of a prestigious PR firm.

But gawd corporate PR had been a beating she thought as she toweled off her hair. Bette had given her an amazing gift- she’d have to remember that as she chased away the dust bunnies and made plans to re-open. While her mother couldn’t understand Jessie leaving a burgeoning career to live in “that town”, Jessie knew that the potential to take what other Hathaways had made and then let it grow into something all her own was what she’d been born to do.

She relished being out of the city; off the meat market and somewhere where she could spread her arms out wide and take on a tiny corner of the world. She did just that and took a spin, laughing when she saw Buck’s tilted head staring puzzled at her goofy pose on the bathroom mat.

“I know, I know,” she said as she tossed her towel at the dog, “what are you gonna do with me?’

Refreshed, dressed and humming the refrain of Abilene, Jessie jogged down the stairs with Buck on her heels and blew a kiss to Aunt Bette’s picture. She had to grin every time she saw Bette’s quirky smile. Bette always looked like she had something up her sleeve, or knew the punch line to some secret joke- most likely a dirty one.

As Jessie rounded the end of the stairs she hopped off the last step. She’d done the same thing every day for every summer until she’d turned 17. Summers at Creekside had meant sun and fun and work, but mostly fun. Guests would come and go. It was never what you’d call busy. But there was always a hum in the air, like when something great was about to begin.

That, Jessie thought with a snide smirk, would be what her mother called her “flair for the dramatic”- an essential quality in any decent PR person. Jessie had spent plenty of time with her therapist, learning about how to handle her mother’s dismissive remarks. But when it came to Julia Truitt-Hathaway, Jessie had been a smart kid and pretty much figured out on her own that some women just weren’t suited to mothering. No, Jessie and her mother never quite clicked, probably because Jessie took up too much of her daddy’s attention.

Lou Hathaway had been a whirlwind of fun and a fierce protector of “his girls”. When Jessie was growing up, her Papa Bear could fix anything and do no wrong. He’d come home from the office each day whipping off his tie and tugging off his shoes to get ready for playtime. He had always looked handsome to his baby girl, but he never seemed to fit into the suits and ties he wore to work. He’d settled into a legal career in Fort Worth to make Julia happy, and provide her the comforts he felt she deserved.

But at heart Lou was a good old boy, more suited to his Wranglers and boots. Gawd she missed him; had missed a little bit every day since his car accident her senior year of high school. Jessie raised her chin up and smiled, because that’s what her daddy liked best, a beautiful smile from his girls.

The smile that came to her face as she thought of her daddy faded when the coffee can in the pantry came up empty in her hands. She turned from inside the pantry and looked at Buck, “Did you drink my coffee.”

Buck tilted his adorable head to the side. Jessie imagined his inner monologue “What you talkin’ bout Willis?”

“Well come on baby,” Jessie said as she grabbed her keys and headed out to the truck, “Looks like it’s breakfast at Mable’s for us.”

Jessie woke up wide-eyed to the snap and crackle of her alarm…

Jessie woke up wide-eyed to the snap and crackle of her alarm and Jimmy John’s obnoxiously awake voice saying, “Gooooood morning guys and gals! It’s time to rise and shine so move that behind! Time to put some giddy up in your get-along, so to get you going here’s a song – how about a quick trip down memory lane here’s a little Buck Owens.”

As the first strains of “Abilene, Abilene, prettiest town I’ve ever seen…” poured out of the tiny alarm speakers Jessie groaned, rolled over and buried her head in the well-worn feather pillow.

Her reply to her somehow-removed cousin Jimmy’s exuberant morning radio banter were a few, choice, unladylike words muffled into the mattress which caused Buck to get up from his spot at the side of the bed and rest his head near hers.

With the tickle of her sweet mutt’s very cold nose on her arm, Jessie peeked out from under the pillow to look at him with one eye.

“I mean really babe,” she asked Buck point blank, “Who talks like that anymore? He’s got an Adrian Cronauer meets the Big Bopper thing going today.”

A sharp yip and the rapid thump of his tail against the wooden floors was Buck’s only reply.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jessie groaned and swung her bare legs out of bed. With a quick stretch and a good morning pop of the neck she ruffled Buck’s head and looked around the room.

Was she really here all on her own? Really home. It was hard to believe it had only been a few weeks since she’d settled in to the two-story house in Chancy, TX complete with a warren of dust bunnies and adorable dog. She chuckled to herself as she stood up and stepped over Buck who quickly settled into her recently vacated warm spot on the bed. As she looked through the window on her way to the bathroom she thought it was silly to think of Creekside as just a two-story house, and kind of ironic how much it already felt like home, the way it had always felt like home.

She’d inherited the cozy home turned bed and breakfast from her Great Aunt Bette. Jessie adored her Aunt Bette. Always had. Most likely because she took after her Hathaway side more than her Truitt side- thank the good Lord.

Bette Hathaway had run Creekside as an inn and B&B for 50 years after her husband L.B. died in Korea. It had just seemed natural to Bette, who had always loved company and cookin’, to turn her country home into a business, no matter how far off the beaten path it had been. Then four years ago the cancer had set in. And set in fast, Jessie remembered as she grudgingly decided to get a move on and headed for the bathroom. With a sad smile Jessie thought the cancer had finally taken Bette home to her maker and her beloved L.B.