Qwilleran ordered the same and suggested corn chowder as the first course. He asked the waiter to hold the food back for a while and to serve the salad following the main course.
The chowder arrived immediately.
"Return it to the kitchen," Qwilleran said to Vee Jay. "We're not ready. We requested that you hold it back." Vee Jay shuffled away with the two bowls.
Chrysalis said, "You know, just because the Taters cling to some of the old ideas like stewed chicken and dirt roads and no telephones, it doesn't mean that they're backward. They maintain old values and old customs because they know something that the lowlanders don't know. Living close to the mountains for generations and struggling to be self-sufficient, they develop their minds in different ways."
"You're probably right. I'm beginning to believe there's something mystical about mountains," Qwilleran said.
When they were finally ready for the soup course, the waiter returned with the two bowls. By this time the chowder was cold.
Qwilleran addressed him stiffly. "Vee Jayif that is really your namewe would have ordered vichyssoise or gazpacho if we had wanted cold soup. Take this away and see that it's properly heated." To his guest he said, "I apologize for this."
In due time the chowder returned, accompanied by two salads. "We asked to have the salad served after the entree," Qwilleran complained, losing patience.
The sullen waiter whisked the salads away and, before the diners could raise their soup spoons, served two orders of chicken in wine sauce, maneuvering the table setting to find room for the large dinner plates.
Now angry, Qwilleran called the hostess to the table. "Please look at this vulgar presentation of food," he said. "Is it your quaint custom to serve the entree with the soup?"
"Sorry," she said. "Vee Jay, remove the soup."
"Madame! If you please! We have not yet started the soup course! Remove the chicken and keep it hot until we're ready." He explained to Chrysalis, "This is the first time I've had dinner here. We should have gone to Amy's Lunch Bucket. It would have been more congenial."
"Don't worry," she said. "I don't go out enough to know the difference."
After a few moments of silent sipping of chowder, Qwilleran asked, "Are the shops in Potato Cove considered successful?"
"I don't know what you mean by 'successful,' " she said, "but we were kind of surprised when some promoters in Spudsboro invited us to move down into the valley. They want to build an addition to the mall and call it Potato Cove."
"How do your people react to that offer?"
"Most of us want to stay where we are, although the promoters tell us there'd be publicity and we'd get more traffic. The rent would be low, because the mall management would consider us an attraction."
"Don't do it!" Qwilleran said. "Potato Cove is unique. It would lose its native charm in a mall. You'd have to stay open seven days a week, eleven hours a day, and the rent would go up as soon as you were installed. They're trying to exploit you."
"I'm glad to hear you say that. I don't trust the Spuds. They do everything for their own benefit with no consideration for us. They drive up our mountain and dump trash and used tires in our ravines instead of going to the Spudsboro landfill where they'd have to pay fifty cents."
"Have you protested?"
"Often! But Taters never get a square deal from the local government. You'd think we didn't pay taxes! And now they're trying to push us off our mountain."
"How can they do that?"
"Well, you know how it is. Old folks have to sell their land because they need money or can't pay their taxes. The Spuds buy the land for next to nothing and then turn around and sell it to developers for a lot of money. That's what Hawkinfield did on Big Potato, and that's what we're afraid will happen to us. The developers will come in; taxes will go up; and more and more Taters will have to sell out. When you live on land that's been in your family for generations, it's heartbreaking to lose it. Lowlanders who don't have roots like ours don't understand how we feel."
The meal progressed with a minimum of annoyance after that, although Qwilleran found the chicken unusually salty for a dining room that prided itself on flavoring with herbs. He did his best to maintain a pleasant attitude, however. He said, "I must ask you about something that baffled me the first night I was here. It was Friday, around midnight. The atmosphere was very clear, and I saw a circle of light on Little Potato. It was revolving."
Chrysalis rolled her eyes. "I don't know whether I should tell you about that. It's kind of far-out . . . You have to understand my mother. She's a positive thinker, you know. She believes that sheer willpower can make things happen. Do you buy that?"
"I'll buy anything," he said, thinking of Koko's supra-normal antics.
"It's not just her own idea. My grandmother and great-grandmother believed the same way. They survived hard times and both lived to a ripe old age. I wish I had their conviction."
"How about your mother? Has she been able to make things happen?"
"Well . . . my father was in a terrible accident at the factory once, and the doctors said he couldn't possibly pull through. But my mother and grandmother willed him to live. That was twenty-five years ago, and you'd never know anything had happened to him, except for a slight limp."
"That's a convincing story."
"Some people call it witchcraft."
"Tell that to Norman Vincent Peale," Qwilleran said. Noticing that she was picking at her food, he inquired how she liked the chicken.
"It's rather salty. I'm not used to much salt."
"I agree the chef has a heavy hand with the saltshaker. Someone should set him straight . . . Are there any other examples of your mother's positive thinking?"
"She always used to arrange good weather for our family reunions," Chrysalis said with a whimsical laugh. "Seriously, though, she made up her mind that Forest and I would go to college, and you know what happened? The state started offering free tuition to mountain students!"
"With all that you've told me, how do you explain your mother's speech affliction?"
She stared at him with the hollow-cheeked sadness he had seen when she spoke of her brother's imprisonment. "She blames herself for the terrible thing that happened to Forest."
"I don't understand," Qwilleran said.
"She used all her mental powers to stop Hawkinfield from ruining the mountains. She didn't want him murdered; she just wanted him to have a change of heart!" Chrysalis stopped and stared into space until Qwilleran urged her to go on. "The horrible irony was that my brother was convicted of the murderand he was innocent. She made a vow never to speak another word as long as he's in prison."
Qwilleran murmured sympathy and regrets and then said, "What about the circle of light on the mountain?"
She shook her head. "Some of our kinfolk go out on top of Little Potato at midnight, carrying lanterns. They walk in a silent circle and meditate, concentrating on getting Forest releasedsomehow." She shook her head.
"Do they think the moving circle increases their effectiveness?" he asked gently, although he had his doubts.
"It's supposed to concentrate the force of their collective will. That's what they say."
"You sound as if you're not entirely convinced."
"I don't know ... I don't know what to think. When we picket the courthouse, we march in a circle, the same way."
"Now that you mention it," he said, "it seems to me that pickets always move in a circle."
"The picketing was Amy's idea," said Chrysalis. "She and Forest were getting ready to marry when he was arrested. They were going to be married at the waterfall at the cove, where the mist rises up like a veil. All the plans were made . . . and then this happened. He was held without bail and railroaded to prison. It's my brother's baby that Amy takes to the Lunch Bucket every day. His name is Ashley . . . I'm sorry. I've been talking too much, but it's good to have a considerate listener who's not a Tater. Lately, I've been getting to be like my mother, not wanting to speak."