A Light in the Window (67 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: A Light in the Window
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“I’ll call,” said Ernestine Ivory, making notes.
“And I think we ought to have the jukebox fixed so we can play it as a demonstration. But it’s going to cost money.”
“What doesn’t?” said Linder Hayes, a local attorney and council-man. “How much?”
“A hundred bucks.”
“Are we goin’ to charge admission?”
“I should say so! Two dollars a head—man, woman, or child—and no discounts for any faction.”
“What are our other expenses?”
“That depends on what we come up with at this meeting. Ernestine, tell them our ideas.”
“Well, you see,” said the secretary, blushing deeply as all eyes turned to her, “we came up with this list of fun things to do. We’d start the bidding at a certain dollar figure and auction each one to the highest bidder.”
“Give us an example,” said the rector.
“Well, we thought we could have somebody kiss a pig. We figured the bidding for that ought to start at a hundred dollars.”
“If Esther will do it, I’ll personally give you a hundred on the spot,” said the rector.
The mayor rose to the challenge. “You can’t scare me. I like pigs. Put me down for kissin’ the pig.”
“On the mouth?” inquired Ernestine, her pen poised.
“Make it a hundred and fifty,” said Esther.
“Make it five hundred,” said Ray. “Think big! After all, it’s for a good cause.”
“Five hundred,” said Ernestine, writing.
“Who in the dickens,” said Linder, “can lay out five hundred dollars to see somebody kiss a pig?”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Linder, honey, which wouldn’t be the first time. The money is not to see somebody kiss a pig. It’s to help renovate the second room in our one-and-only town museum, which will reflect the culture of this unique place and the history of its people, not to mention provide a valuable document for all time.”
“But ...”
“Kissing a pig is a mere ...” Esther searched for a word.
“Adornment!” said Ernestine.
Ray attended the meeting from the kitchen, where he had gone to clean up. “By th’ time we renovate twenty-two rooms, th’ Porter place will be historic all over again.”
“Get Percy to do the hula,” said Joe Ivey. “That ought to be worth somethin’.”
“Write that down,” said Esther. “Fifty dollars. If he played a ukulele, we could get seventy-five.”
Ray walked into the room carrying a pot and a drying towel. “Tell ’im to wear a grass skirt,” he said. “That’ll be a crowd pleaser. And another thing. Somebody could push a peanut down Main Street with their nose. I’ve seen that done. You could get a bundle for that.”
“Depends on who you get to push it,” said the rector. “For example, Esther doing it might bring five hundred, whereas Coot Hendrick, not being a town bigwig, would bring less.”
“Why don’t we put you down for that one?” said Esther, peering intently at the rector.
“I pass.”
“Eatin’ Miss Rose’s cookin’—that would be a good one,” said Joe Ivey.
“There ain’t enough money in the world to get
me
to do that,” said Ray, who threw the towel over his shoulder and went back to the kitchen.
“Has any consideration been given to a fund-raiser with more dignity?” asked Linder.
“Dignity?” sniffed the mayor. “You can’t raise cash money with dignity. It’s hard enough to sell history, much less dignity.”
“Just asking,” said Linder.
“The peanut deal will definitely draw a crowd,” said Ray, not wanting the idea to lose momentum.
“Do you think they ought to push it all th’ way down Main Street?” asked Joe. “Lord have mercy, that’s a long way. How about from th’ bookstore to th’ bakery?”
“Fine,” said the mayor. “Write that down.”
Ernestine raised her hand. “I’ve got one,” she said, coloring furiously. “You could do a demonstration of how the father’s dog reacts to Scripture. Nobody’s ever seen a thing like that. You could maybe get a hundred.”
The rector sighed. “I sincerely hope all this isn’t happening in June.”
“June twenty-fourth,” replied the mayor, looking at the table where Ray was setting out a homemade apple crisp.
On an afternoon jog that took him across Main Street, he met J.C. Hogan.
“Where are you taking nourishment?” he asked, panting from the run.
“On a hot plate. Mule and Fancy gave it to me. I’ve burned more than I’ve consumed.”
“Come by the rectory one evening, and Dooley and I will set you up to a hamburger.”
“How’s your cousin? Haven’t seen her around.”
He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “Gone. Vamoose. Outta here.” He was unable to control the grin that spread across his face.
J.C. emitted one of his rare laughs.
“Hasta la vista?”
“Right-o. I hear they’ve started on the Grill.”
“I can’t think clear enough to write a complete sentence for all the racket goin’ on down there.”
“Use stringers. I’m sure Hessie Mayhew would fill up a page or two.”
“Ha, ha. Have you seen Percy?”
“They’re leaving June the tenth. Are you going to publicize the museum festival?”
“What museum festival?”
“Hotfoot it over to the mayor. She’ll tell you everything.”
J.C. set off at a trot, headed north; the rector sprinted in a southerly direction.
He drove Miss Sadie to see the progress on Hope House. They got out of the car, where she leaned on her cane and gazed across the construction site to the blue swell of mountains.
He looked down at her with affection. “Big things come in little packages, Miss Sadie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder.
Buck Leeper left a machine operator and walked over to them.
“Buck Leeper, Miss Sadie Baxter, the generous lady responsible for Hope House.”
Buck removed his hard hat. He sheepishly extended his hand, then withdrew it. “Dirt,” he said.
“Nothing wrong with dirt,” she said brightly.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Baxter.”
“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Leeper. I hear wonderful things about your abilities, and I’m proud to have you on this job.”
“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat.
He was not imagining it at all. There was something different in Buck Leeper’s face, something very different.
“See you at the hospital,” he told the rector. Making what was clearly an involuntary bow to Miss Sadie, he said, “Ma’am,” then turned and hurried away.
“Shy,” she pronounced, looking after the superintendent.
“Twenty-four hundred dollars!” said Cynthia, sitting at his kitchen table, drinking tea.
“Amazing.”
“What do you think he’ll do with it?”
“I don’t know. Stuff it between the matress and box spring, I suppose.”
“I wish he wouldn’t do that! Life is too short to stuff your money between the matress and box spring.”
“Agreed.”
“Five of his drawings will appear in the fall. Hardcover. Coffee-table edition! With other art, of course.”
“A grand display for the museum.” Uncle Billy Watson would be a local celebrity, at the very least.
“Found a tutor yet?”
“Seems there’s a Louise Appleshaw around these parts. Spinster. Terribly good at English, but stern.”
“Stern. Oh, dear.”
“When it comes to English, Dooley Barlowe needs stern. She’d come in the afternoons, three days a week, and take the evening meal with us.”
“Always heating up the oven for somebody or other. Not missing your cousin, are you?” She leaned her head to one side and grinned.
“You mean my attractive, terribly good-looking cousin?”
“The same.”
“Whatever possessed you to call her good-looking?”
“Oh, but she really is, don’t you think? So tall and thin... for those of us who’re short and dumpy, she seemed ...”
“You aren’t short and dumpy. Short yes, but dumpy, no.”
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I’m not searching for a compliment, I promise, but not only do I feel short and dumpy, I feel vastly old...”
“You’re a mere child, for heaven’s sake. In heart and spirit, quite my junior. Exceedingly my junior.”
“Well ...” she said, gazing at him.
“You look wonderful. Everyone says so.”
“They do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Who is everyone?”
“Uncle Billy thinks you’re a dish. And Mule Skinner still talks about your legs—it’s shocking.”
“Really? I love this.”
“Be glad we’re not playing Emma’s favorite game, Last Go Trade.”
“What’s that?”
“I tell you something wonderful I’ve heard about you, and you, having the last go, had better be prepared to top it. It is a very taxing game.”
“I can play that,” she said.
“Remember I’ve just told you some pretty terrific stuff.”
“Ha, I can top it all.”
“Fire away, then.”
“You’re sexy, witty, and fun to be with.”
“Who said so?”
“I said so.”
“It has to be something someone else has said.”
She looked blank. “Oh.”
“See there? Nobody has said anything worth repeating.”
“Avis Packard said you were a good cook.”
“That’s scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“And Puny once told me you’re not hard on shirts.”
“Ah. Lovely.”
“Let’s see ...” She furrowed her brow in mock concentration.
“Well, enough of that game. I knew I didn’t like it.” He sipped his tea. “So, I’m all those things you said?”
“What did I say? I forgot.”
“You know. Sexy, witty, fun to be with.”
“You have your moments. You’re not all those things across the board, of course.”
“Of course.”
She laughed. “I love it when you loosen up.”
“What don’t you love?” he asked, looking at her intently.
She gazed back at him. “Oh, soggy mittens, chocolate without nuts, and a man who can’t find it in himself to hold your hand when it’s sticking right out there in plain view.”
He took her hand that was resting on the table. “What else?” he said.
“Never being asked out to dinner, not even once.”
He got up, still holding her hand. “I have just the place!”
Edith Mallory’s smoldering cigarette never entered his mind. He thought only of the soft green walls, the intimate, no-smoking corner table he’d admired, the smiling maitre d’, and the menu that, apart from the elk, bison, and reindeer, offered fresh mountain trout.
“You’ve got something the color of hyacinths ...” he said.
“I’ll wear it! If you’ll wear the blue jacket.”
“Deal,” he said, excited as a boy.

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