Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 01 - Trouble at Happy Trails by Minnie Crockwell Page B
Authors: Minnie Crockwell
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for my sanity that Ben’s disembodied voice elicited, but suffice it to say I felt all the emotions a woman would normally feel when she hears the voice of a man in her house…and knows she is alone behind locked doors. I checked the radio. It was off. I opened the door to try to locate the voice outside. Loud neighbors? A loudspeaker announcing a tsunami warning? Something easier to deal with than an intangible voice? No luck.
Madam, what is this conveyance and why have you brought me here?
Those had been Ben’s first words to me.
Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord.
In a pained voice, he said I could call him Ben when I tried out “Perry” as a nickname. His slightly British accent was the least peculiar thing about him, but perhaps the one thing that kept me from going over the edge into complete insanity. I do so love a British accent.
Yes, Miss Crockwell, I am British by birth but American by allegiance. I am an officer in the United States Army assigned to the Corps of Discovery mission under Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark.
That was then.
Now, I shrugged my shoulders and ignored Ben.
“Well, that’s brave of you.” Sally’s face puckered. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if Carl leaves me. I can’t drive our RV. It’s too big for me.”
I laid my hand on hers. “You’ll be fine. I know it seems scary to drive the big rigs, but if your husband does leave, you have choices. You can learn to drive it or sell it. But I can tell everything seems very hard right now.”
Sally smiled sadly. “It does. Thank you for the pep talk. I’m so sorry you caught me like this.”
I gathered up the park map and my receipt and put on my best reassuring smile.
“You’re welcome, Sally. See you later.”
Well done, Minerva! I believe your sympathy helped her.
I stepped outside into the sunshine and dragged in a breath of air.
“That’s hardly much help, is it, Ben? But there’s nothing I can do for her.”
No. Sadly, I think not. Her husband seemed quite angry when he left. Perhaps he will calm down.
“Maybe,” I said skeptically. “Let’s go find my site.”
From the map, I deduce you must turn to the left, and your site will be located approximately halfway down the road.
I climbed into the RV, still after all this time leaving the door open as if Ben physically followed me in. Of course, he didn’t, but I just couldn’t slam the door right behind me for fear of hitting him.
“How did you see the map? I kept it hidden just to tease you.”
Please, madam. I am a navigator and a cartographer. Of course, I saw a map—the one located on the wall behind the sad woman.
“Of course,” I said with a smile. I put the RV in gear and made the left turn, allowing Ben to guide me in. Not everyone had their own personal navigator, but I did. It was nice.
I negotiated the RV into my spot without difficulty and got out to hook up electric and water. Only about 20 feet separated me from my neighbors on either side, one a huge diesel pusher that looked to be about 40 some feet long. They seemed to have been at the park for a while since they had three folding chairs out in front of their RV over an indoor/outdoor carpet and decorative lights hanging from their awning. The other RV on my left was a smaller travel trailer that looked quick and light to pull.
I hadn’t yet gone so far as to advertise myself with bright twinkling lights though I did admire them from afar.
Do not forget the flamingos.
“Of course not,” I answered Ben. I hauled out my two pink plastic flamingos and positioned them prominently by the front door.
“Where are you from?” came the inevitable question. I turned around. An older man had come from around the front of the diesel pusher to my right. He paused.
“Oh, here and there. Washington lately. Yourself?” I asked. These sorts of conversations were unavoidable, and as antisocial as I could be at times, not always welcome.
Madam, what is this conveyance and why have you brought me here?
Those had been Ben’s first words to me.
Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord.
In a pained voice, he said I could call him Ben when I tried out “Perry” as a nickname. His slightly British accent was the least peculiar thing about him, but perhaps the one thing that kept me from going over the edge into complete insanity. I do so love a British accent.
Yes, Miss Crockwell, I am British by birth but American by allegiance. I am an officer in the United States Army assigned to the Corps of Discovery mission under Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark.
That was then.
Now, I shrugged my shoulders and ignored Ben.
“Well, that’s brave of you.” Sally’s face puckered. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if Carl leaves me. I can’t drive our RV. It’s too big for me.”
I laid my hand on hers. “You’ll be fine. I know it seems scary to drive the big rigs, but if your husband does leave, you have choices. You can learn to drive it or sell it. But I can tell everything seems very hard right now.”
Sally smiled sadly. “It does. Thank you for the pep talk. I’m so sorry you caught me like this.”
I gathered up the park map and my receipt and put on my best reassuring smile.
“You’re welcome, Sally. See you later.”
Well done, Minerva! I believe your sympathy helped her.
I stepped outside into the sunshine and dragged in a breath of air.
“That’s hardly much help, is it, Ben? But there’s nothing I can do for her.”
No. Sadly, I think not. Her husband seemed quite angry when he left. Perhaps he will calm down.
“Maybe,” I said skeptically. “Let’s go find my site.”
From the map, I deduce you must turn to the left, and your site will be located approximately halfway down the road.
I climbed into the RV, still after all this time leaving the door open as if Ben physically followed me in. Of course, he didn’t, but I just couldn’t slam the door right behind me for fear of hitting him.
“How did you see the map? I kept it hidden just to tease you.”
Please, madam. I am a navigator and a cartographer. Of course, I saw a map—the one located on the wall behind the sad woman.
“Of course,” I said with a smile. I put the RV in gear and made the left turn, allowing Ben to guide me in. Not everyone had their own personal navigator, but I did. It was nice.
I negotiated the RV into my spot without difficulty and got out to hook up electric and water. Only about 20 feet separated me from my neighbors on either side, one a huge diesel pusher that looked to be about 40 some feet long. They seemed to have been at the park for a while since they had three folding chairs out in front of their RV over an indoor/outdoor carpet and decorative lights hanging from their awning. The other RV on my left was a smaller travel trailer that looked quick and light to pull.
I hadn’t yet gone so far as to advertise myself with bright twinkling lights though I did admire them from afar.
Do not forget the flamingos.
“Of course not,” I answered Ben. I hauled out my two pink plastic flamingos and positioned them prominently by the front door.
“Where are you from?” came the inevitable question. I turned around. An older man had come from around the front of the diesel pusher to my right. He paused.
“Oh, here and there. Washington lately. Yourself?” I asked. These sorts of conversations were unavoidable, and as antisocial as I could be at times, not always welcome.
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