"Aha."
"The school got a new flag, one that flew at the White House, and the Mixed Chorus is going to sing on Thursday while they raise it."
"I heard about that. Dooleys singing."
"Rodney Underwood caught somebody climbin' out th' back window of th' Collar Button. The burglar ran off, but they nabbed two suits of clothes, a sack of underwear, a dress shirt, and a fancy umbrella."
"Keep this up, I won't have to buy a paper on Monday."
"This," said J.C, "is old news. Already run in the paper last week. I figured you hadn't read it. If you're lookin' for new news, buy Monday's Muse."
"A poet and don't know it," said Mule. "Did you hear about ol' Miz Cranford goin' off to visit her daughter and asked Coot Hendrick to watch her house?"
"Didn't hear about that."
"Came back and Coot and his biggest boy had washed it. Top to bottom. Borrowed every ladder they could get hold of."
J.C. was not a pretty sight when he laughed with his mouth full.
"I don't get it," said Father Tim.
"Coot thought she said wash 'er house, not watch it."
"Urn," murmured the rector.
"You had to be there," said Mule. "You know Joe Ivey's down sick with th' flu..."
"Uh oh. I needed to walk up there this morning and get a haircut."
"You're lookin' a little shaggy, all right. It's hangin' over your collar."
"That bad, is it?"
Mule peered at him over his glasses. "A good time to step over and see Fancy."
The rector ducked his head and buttered his toast.
"She cut J.C. last week."
The rector inspected J.C, who turned red.
"He looks the same to me."
"Well, that's the beauty of it," said Mule. "You go to just any jackleg, and you come out lookin' like a total stranger. Go to a professional and you come out lookin' like yourself."
The rector grinned. "So, you're going the unisex route, J.C?"
"I hope to God you won't spread it around that I went to a beauty shop. Dadgummit, Mule, I asked you to keep that to yourself."
"All I've told is the preacher, here, hope t' die," said Mule.
Father Tim roared with laughter.
J.C. sopped his plate with the last crust of toast. "I ought t' stop comin' in this place..."
"Twenty percent off for clergy," Mule assured him. "That's five more'n what you get in Wesley, plus you burn gas runnin' over there, not to mention th' potholes from all th' bad weather that'll take your hubcaps off, plus your exhaust pipe. About a two hundred dollar run is what you'd have, not includin' th' tip."
"How long can the flu last? I can get by another day or two."
"Yeah, but Joe just took sick. He'll probably be down for a couple of weeks. You know Joe. He won't barber with the flu."
Puny Bradshaw sprang instantly to mind. She was the one for the job. She could trim him up in no time.
"I'll think about it," he lied. Actually, J.C. did look different, after all. He appeared as if he might be wearing bangs.
"Slide in," J.C. said to Ron Malcolm, who walked up to the booth. "I'm leavin'. Some people in this town have to work."
"I'm bustin' out of here, too," said Mule, who stood up and took his meal check. "Listin' a new house. Speakin' of which," he said to the rector, "how's that goodlookin' woman I slipped in next door to you? Haven't seen her around."
"Living in New York for a while."
"I got him a neighbor and a half," Mule told Ron. "Nicest pair of legs you'd ever want t' see."
Mule Skinner had no qualms about taking full credit for an act of providence, thought the rector. All he'd done was handle some paperwork on the little yellow house, which was deeded to Cynthia by her uncle's estate.
Velma came around with the coffeepot. "It's me again," said Ron, looking sheepishly at Percy's wife. "I'll take a fresh cup, if you don't mind."
Velma grunted and stomped away.
"She's sour as milk about Leeper. Any friend of his is an enemy of hers."
"What now?"
"Same old, same old. He's short with her, demanding, kind of high and mighty. She'd like to stab him with a fork."
"I had a horrifying dream about him last night. An accident on the job. Terrible, haunting."
"Worst that ever happened to him is he lost two fingers. One off each hand, a matched set, he says. You ever notice?"
"Our social exchanges have been pretty hasty. No, I didn't notice. What about his family? A wife? Kids?"
"No kids. Three wives. I won't go into what happened with the last one. I promise you don't want to know, and it sure didn't sweeten his temper any."
"Where does he live? What does he find to do around here?" Velma set Ron's coffee on the table, with two packages of Sweet 'N Low. "There you go," she said tersely.
"Rents the old Tanner cottage, remember it? Go to the end of Church Hill, take the right that goes off in the woods. The cottage sits down in there. Pretty secluded. Beats me what he does. Not much, probably, after the kind of days he puts in. Somebody told me he used to do models, maybe of airplanes, I don't know."
"You said he hits the drinking pretty hard."
"Bottom line, it's not known to interfere with his work. Same way with his daddy for a lot of years, then it got him."
"What's his poison, anyway?"
"Vodka. Straight up."
The rector whistled.
"I have to tell you," said Ron, "there's something about him I like. Nope, I'm not condoning his social behavior, but there's something in the man...kind of like that little piece of nut you can't quite get out of the shell, even with a pick. Just that little piece stuck in there, somehow, that's all right."
"How's the job coming?"
"The weather poked a hole in us, but Buck's got it back on line. I tell you, he's the best in the business. If his ol' daddy hadn't kicked his butt so hard when he was a kid..."
"There's the rub. How's Wilma?"
"Cuter than a speckled pup." Ron's eyes sparkled with merriment at the mention of his wife of forty years. If there was a man to be turned to and counted on, it was Ron Malcolm, who, in his opinion, occupied the pedestal with Hal Owen. With these men flanking him on either side, he was a rector on whom providence clearly smiled.
"I feel like somethin' th' cat dragged in," said Emma. Her face was blotchy, her hair looked unkempt, and her eyes were swollen.
"What do you think it is?" he asked, truly concerned.
"I ate a whole cheesecake last night."
"You what?"
"Th' whole thing."
"Good Lord!"
"Direct from the freezer," she said, barely moving her lips and appearing to have gone numb in the face.
"How?..." He was at a loss.
"Dumped it out of the aluminum pan right on the countertop and busted it into five chunks with a knife handle."
"Good heavens! Where was Harold?"
"Gone. Went off to talk to somebody about plantin' Christmas trees on that four acres behind th' barn. He never leaves me at night. It was th' first time we've been separated in th' evenin' since we got married. Soon as he walked out th' door, somethin' came over me—that cheesecake popped in my mind like it was up on a drivein theater screen."
"I know the feeling."
"He wasn't hardly out of the driveway 'til I jerked open th' freezer and hauled that cake out of there.
"At least I could have waited for it to thaw, but no sirree, whop, chop, down th' hatch." She sighed deeply, looking mournful. "I could have called in sick, but I knew you needed this report for the buildin' committee."
This was the first time he'd ever.seen her too ill to be ill-tempered. She was meek as a lamb, which, regardless of the price she was paying, was not an unwelcome turn of events.
She had a strained look as she peered at him over her glasses. "Knowin' how cheese clogs me up, the worst is not over."
"Well," he said feebly, trying to be helpful, "try not
to do it again.
He went up the hill at Miss Sadie's request, for an impromptu lunch of collards, navy beans, hot rolls, and fried chicken.
"Miss Sadie," Louella had said over their early breakfast, "we've crackered and san'wiched that poor preacher half to death. Let's give 'im somethin' can stick to 'is ribs."
Miss Sadie sniffed. "Fried chicken in the daytime is too heavy if you've got work to do. Why not chicken salad?"
"Too much trouble—skinnin', stewin', cuttin' off th' bone. Besides, I feel a cookin' spell comin' on."
"Oh, dear." Miss Sadie drew a deep breath. If Louella was too long discouraged from what she called "real" cooking, she would suddenly take a fit of meal preparation that cost a fortune, the results of which they couldn't possibly eat at one or two sittings. This meant all the leftovers had to be frozen in a veritable stack of containers. She knew for a fact that loading up the freezer made the refrigerator motor work harder, which reflected on the electric bill.
She tried, however, to be reasonable. She didn't mind losing a battle or two if, in the larger issues, she might win the war.
Miss Sadie's eyes were sparkling. "You know why I asked you up for lunch?"
He hardly ever knew why Miss Sadie asked him up for lunch. One thing he did know, however—it would be a surprise; it always was.
"They're going to get married!" she announced.
"Well, now, that's wonderful. Marvelous!" He leaned to her at the dining table and kissed her cheek. "Congratulations! The best news!" He couldn't deny that he felt a dash overlooked that no one had called him.
"Olivia wanted me to be the first to know, and Hoppy was going to tell you second, but he got that awful case of that whole family with food poisoning, and Olivia said I could tell you." He had never seen her look so radiant, as if she, herself, might be a bride. Here was one of the bene fits, the bonuses, the perks of being a parson.
He sat back happily in the Queen Anne chair. "I don't know when I've had better news. When will it be?"
"June! Olivia said, 'Aunt Sadie'—oh, if you could know how I love hearing her call me that!—she said, 'Aunt Sadie, we were thinking of May or June. What do you think?' I said, 'Why, June, of course! It's traditional!' And she said, 'But aren't we a bit long in the tooth for that sort of tradition? Isn't that for young brides?' And I said, 'But my dear, you are a young bride. Your heart is only a few months old!' And so—June it is. The seventeenth! Oh, Father, I'm beside myself! It's the first family wedding I've ever known.
"How I wish everyone could know that Olivia is my blood kin." As she said that, her eyes lost their dancing light.
"Miss Sadie, you've bossed me around for years, and I've loved every minute of it. Now, I'm going to boss you on something. Forget your disappointment that no one can know. Don't let that rob you of even a moment's joy You and Olivia have found each other. What a miracle! What grace! And all this joy depending upon a little coat that was spared down the years, so you could at last open this gift of the heart. I'm scolding you, Miss Sadie. Cheer up!"
She smiled and patted his arm, "You're right as rain, Father. You keep after me, you hear? You know I'll keep after you."
"Oh, and it's a privilege to have someone keep after me. I need it."
"Father, I've heard...rumors. You know how things get around. There are some who say you might have...well, that you might have a special fondness for your neighbor and she for you." Miss Sadie colored slightly. It had taken some courage to ask.
"You've heard right."
"Then, one day, there could be someone besides me to keep after you?"
"There...could be." He paused. "Perhaps."
"Father, don't be too cautious. I would never tell anyone to throw caution to the winds, for caution is a good thing." She looked at her hands in her lap for a moment and then looked at him. "But caution can be carried too far."
He shook his head, silent. He had learned to be as comfortable and trusting as a child in Sadie Baxter's company.
"Now," she said. "I have a surprise."
Ah, well, what else was new? Where else did one get genuine surprises these days, if not from Sadie Baxter? Of course, Cynthia Coppersmith was no slacker when it came to surprises...
"You're beaming!"
"Weddings," he said. "I like weddings. Baptisms. Confirmations. Even funerals, in a sense. Life events are wondrous."
"I'm going to be cremated, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"I certainly don't want to be laid out in a coffin for everyone to gawk at. Besides, it costs a fortune. Thousands and thousands of dollars, and now they're selling you a liner into the bargain. A liner! That's to go around the casket! As if the casket itself weren't up to the job!"
"Watch your blood pressure," he said, laughing.
"Make sure you put my urn in the rose garden. Don't stick me in that rhododendron grove. It's too shady. Where is Parrish Guthrie, anyway? Is he planted out there? If so, move me across the churchyard!"
"Gosh, I should have brought my notebook to take down all these directions."
She laughed with him. "Isn't it wonderful that we can have such a lively time talking about dying?" She pulled at his arm. "Come, Father, I'm going to show you the ballroom. And I hope you know how privileged you are, for Louella and I are the only ones who have seen it in twenty-four years. Oh, wait. I did let Luther in one day to trap a squirrel."
He walked with her slowly, offering his arm for security. "I'm going to give Olivia and Hoppy the grandest ball you could ever imagine," she said. "I want to give her something she'll remember for the rest of her life."
The ballroom doors were located in the foyer at the foot of the impressive staircase.
"Papa designed the ballroom to go here, so our guests could come sweeping down the stairs in their fine clothes and go right into the festivities. We had friends from all over, 'til Papa's health suffered."
"I've heard," he said gently. "I believe the president visited here."
"President Wilson! I remember he gave me a piece of toffee wrapped in silver paper. I kept it for years. Then, one day I just unwrapped it and ate it! It was still good."
She took the large key out of her pocket and turned it in the lock. "Louella keeps the lock oiled. We use WD40. What do you use for locks?"
"The very same," he said, feeling excited.
The doors swung open and Miss Sadie stepped over the threshold.
"There, now. What do you think?" She looked at him for signs of the admiration this room had always inspired.
"Ah," he said, stricken, needing a place to sit.
"Leaves you speechless, doesn't it, Father?"
"Yes, indeed!" Tattered sheets and blankets were nailed over the windows, furniture of every sort sat moldering along the walls, covered with dust and cobwebs. Great pale splotches appeared on the once-shining parquet floor where water had leaked in and stood in puddles. Some of the parquet tiles had come off their moorings and were scattered about, and the rococo mirrors on every wall needed resilvering, a process of staggering cost, he once learned.
He could have been standing in almost any room of the old Porter place, he thought. How could all this be turned around before June?
"You haven't looked up even once!" Miss Sadie sounded a trifle disgusted.
He looked up, and the sight took his breath away.
"You see! People keep their nose to the ground when they ought to be looking up!"
"A good sermon," he gulped. "Well taken."
Cherubim and seraphim frolicked along the borders of the ceiling and darted among blushcolored clouds. Angels swarmed toward the center of the ceiling in goldbordered robes of blue and scarlet and purple, their iridescent wings brushed with silver. They bore garlands of roses in their arms, with loose blossoms tumbling down over the borders, so seemingly real that one might rush to catch them as they fell.
"Bravo!" he said quietly, still looking up.
"Papa called it the Heaven Room, after something he'd s
een in England in the house of a duke or an earl—I can't remember which."
"It's heavenly, all right." Fortunately, there appeared to be water damage in one area only, which might easily pass for a dark cloud among the shining cumulus variety.
"One day I'll tell you about the time it was painted and who painted it," she said. "Oh, Father, you'll grow weary of my stories. "Never!" he said, meaning it.
He had laughed today; he had been happy. He didn't know why he had not counted more sunny hours in his life, but he hadn't. God had clearly asked him to, but he was intent on having his own nature, and his own nature could be inward, even melancholy. He didn't like it, but there it was.
At the end of this day, what he wanted more than anything else was the solace of her letters.
A new one had come this morning, and he carried it to his desk, unopened. He put the letter in the drawer, looking forward to sitting down with it after Dooley was upstairs and the little clamor of their supper together was over.
He reminded himself that he needed to have a key made for the desk drawer where he kept her letters. The worn lock was there, but he hadn't inherited the key. Even more than not wanting anyone to discover them, he wanted to protect them for their rarity, for their...he couldn't find another word...fragility.
As he turned toward the kitchen, the longing he'd felt all day welled up in him again and he went back to the desk. He would read only one line, just the opening, something to sustain him.
My Bookend,
The winter here continues bitter and dark, the work on the book goes poorly, and my heart aches for the consolation of your company.
Even so, I am keeping the light...
"There's nothing better for the inside of a boy than the outside of a horse," said Hal Owen when he called in the evening. "Let him come for the weekend."
Ah, he'd grown selfish with Dooley. He liked the sound of his tennis shoes on the stairs, the look of astonishment on his face when he ate fried bologna with him for two mornings in a row. He was attached to the bright questions in his eyes, to the occasional breakthrough of a smile or one of those wacky laughs he'd developed with Tommy. He had even made a certain peace with the sound of that blasted jam box thumping above his study.