(Editor’s note: Before passing away this month, “One Woman’s Opinion” columnist Mary Wakefield Buxton completed a special five-part series, “The Nimcock Chronicles.” The following column is the first in the series.)
FIRST IN A SPECIAL FIVE-PART FINAL SERIES
There is a stretch of land along the Rappahannock River, just outside the charming village of Nimcock, which can be observed from a crest on a road leading into town. Fields of corn, soybeans or winter wheat sweep down to the gentle blue ribbon of the Rappahannock River and if one looks carefully, one can see a world of wildlife within. Diamonds glisten afar from the surface of the river and the sun is always shining under a blinding blue sky.
If one allows his eye to wander a little to the left he will see a serene pond tucked in amongst the trees and if one is really fortunate, a deer may emerge from the fields for a cool drink from the pond.
Merrypen, who sees such a view each day in her mind’s eye as she spins her tales in her office on Kent Street, once saw an otter floating on his back in the center of the pond, as if beckoning her to enter the pond for a summer swim.
In her imagination the sky above is always breathtakingly fluffy with its fleet of white clouds sailing by as if racing in a regatta. Birdsong is everywhere… every kind of bird, and their chorus to Merrypen is as heavenly as the music of Bach or Beethoven.
When she is there, at this perfect spot in Nimcock country, it is the happiest time in her day and the best part is she can get there at the flick of her brain. For imagination, especially on a cloudless, grey, shivery kind of day, when the wind off the river whistles around her home sending chills to the soul that not even the modern-day heating systems can hope to erase, is the only escape. It is on these sorts of days so common in wintertime that imagination warms the heart.
She thinks it’s a shame that such a perfect world that has been given to all who dwell on Earth is occasionally marred by human behavior. And so, this new tale that springs forth in such a world of peace and beauty, begins with a new series called the Nimcock Chronicles.
On this stretch of paradise stood a stately white-framed home built on a bank overlooking the river. There lived a retired four-star admiral, a distinguished gentleman by the name of Julian Peabody and his rather snooty wife, Fiona, whom the “townies” thought was downright snobbish about her husband’s rank, the sort of woman that demanded and received her own personal pew in the local church and whom the other parishioners thought it best to honor her demand, and after all, what difference did it really make in the major scheme of things when one considers the great universe in all its glory, whether the Admiral’s wife had her own personal pew in church or not?
The admiral and his wife had moved to Nimcock several years ago to enjoy a well-earned retirement after years of service in the United States Navy. The Admiral was a grand old gentleman who still walked with the dignified bearing of his rank and still commanded respect from passersby, in spite of his wife, whenever he appeared in the town of Nimcock to shop at the market, check in at the post office or visit the ABC store on Virginia Street to select his favorite bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey, a surprising jibe from his staid personality.
All was well in the peaceful community which was known for dealing well with “Come-Here’s,” the term the town’s people referred to for those who came in retirement from mainly northern states and who were not familiar with local custom and tradition, sometimes standing out like elephants in the backyard, and, frankly, causing difficulties at times.
Still, enough time had passed that the Admiral and his wife had been accepted in Nimcock and all was well until one day a retired four-star Army General, Edwin von Klunck and his snooty wife, Greta, moved into the area and worse, right next door on the river to the Admiral!
Greta was also sensitive to her husband’s superior rank which she considered her rank and insisted that she never be referred to as “Greta” by the town’s people but always as “the General’s wife.”
This delectable tidbit of news traveled at double time speed throughout the town starting at the lunch counter at the local drug store, jumping like a Mexican bean to the post office, then to the ABC store and within minutes had transferred to every business and home in Nimcock.
You can be sure there was much commentary on the title “the General’s wife” that was expected of the town’s people but then, Nimcock was malleable about their newcomers and wanted to please and besides, in the general scheme of things in this great big universe what did it matter what people called Greta and if she wished to be addressed as the general’s wife, then so be it.
But things rapidly deteriorated. Some say it started when the General hoisted a U.S. Army flag up his flagpole in his front yard under the American flag denoting a four-star general was in residence. This act, seemingly innocent and not necessarily newsworthy, was followed quickly by the Admiral hoisting a flag in his front yard denoting a four-star Admiral was in residence. Now that was significant news worth of discussion.
When Merrypen heard about the clash between the two ultra rank conscious retirees, she laughed. During her time as a Navy wife during the Vietnam war years while stationed in Japan, she had heard a story about a Captain’s wife insisting wives line up when the ship came into the dock according to their husband’s rank. Thus, she assured herself of always being the first to board the ship.
But one day an Admiral happened to be on board. The captain’s wife had to cool her heels and wait for the Admiral’s wife to board.
War and peace depended on such ironclad rules and never forget it.
The town’s people were horrified as such news circulated at record speeds because it sounded as if there would be war! But not war between two everyday neighbors but a much more exciting war … a war between two massive egos and their hoity toity wives, a war between the Navy brass vs. Army brass, a battle with more thrills than even the annual Army-Navy football games between West Point and Annapolis, and, oh, lest I forget, sure enough, Peabody was a grad from Annapolis and you guessed it, Von Klunck was first in his class at West Point.
Gentlemen! Start your engines! Your audience awaits!
→ Part 2
Note: This story is fiction. All characters and events described herein are the product of the author’s imagination. Any suggestion to real people or events is purely coincidental.
