These High, Green Hills (36 page)

“I got one,” said Mule.
“This is the best place to eat in town. ”

J.C. rolled his eyes. “This is the only place to eat in town.”

“Scratch that,” said Mule.

The rector smoothed his paper napkin and took out the pen he won in an American Legion raffle. “Since this is the only place, being better than somebody else won’t hack it. Maybe you need to give something away.”

“Balloons!” said Mule. “Bumper stickers! Mugs!” He looked around the table. “How about refrigerator magnets?”

Percy wagged his head vigorously. “I ain’t givin‘ nothin’ away. Look what I’m givin‘ away now—breakfast, two ninety-nine; cheeseburgers a buck-fifty; BLTs a buck-eighty when I ought t’ be haulin‘ down two dollars ... nossir, I ain’t givin’ nothin‘ else away.”

“Right,” said Velma.

“Th‘ deal,” Percy said, “is to pull in some new people, people that could be stoppin’ by on their way to work in Wesley or Holding, like that. Or people that’s packin‘ their lunch and could be eatin’ right here just as cheap.”

“OK,” said Father Tim, “what about a line ... something like ... these aren’t the words, just the gist of it ... something like, check us out and you’ll come back again and again. I don’t know. This is hard.”

“That doesn’t have any spin on it,” said J.C., chewing the pencil.

“Spin?” said Percy. “What’s that?”

“What time is it?” asked the rector, checking his watch. “Good Lord! I’m out of here.”

“What’s th‘ hurry?” said Mule. “The fun’s just beginnin’.”

That, thought the rector as he raced to the office, was not how he would describe things, at all.

“There you go,” said the technician, slapping a manual on his desk.

The rector picked it up and stared at it. It was heavier than his study edition of the Old Testament, something close to the weight of a truck tire.

He thumbed through to the back as the technician plugged in the keyboard. Eight hundred and twenty-nine pages! If this didn’t turn out to be the worst experience of his life, he’d eat the index—a mere ten pages, including appendixes.

Emma had scarcely moved since he arrived at the office. She sat at her desk, as frozen as a halibut, and deathly pale under two spots of rouge. He could not come up with one word of consolation.

“Before we go into your spreadsheet application,” said the technician, whose name was Dave, “let’s take a look at your word processing toolbars.”

“Aha.”

“Would you like to hide your toolbars or display them?”

Honesty was the best policy. “I don’t have a clue.”

“OK, so let’s get basic.”

“Right.”

“Let’s start with your mouse, and practice pointing, clicking, and dragging.”

Emma didn’t move her head, but rolled her eyes around to watch the demonstration.

“OK, put your hand on your mouse like this....” Dave demonstrated. “Click it. Fun, right? You’re off and running. Now, let’s choose a menu option. Or would you rather use a keyboard shortcut?”

“What do you, ah, recommend?” he asked.

“Hey, I bet you’d like choosing a keyboard shortcut.”

“I’m a shortcut kind of guy,” he said.

Emma rolled her eyes, but still didn’t move her head.

“OK, great. Position the insertion point in the text ... oops, hey, no problem. OK, click your mouse button. Right. Very good. And press this key. No, the other one. Lost that.

“OK. Here we are in Dialog Boxes. You’ll really like Dialog Boxes. Hey, there are your Fonts! And look, there’s Roman. Being Catholic, you’ll probably go for that, ha ha, just kidding. I’ll be darned. Never seen that before. Things change so fast in this business, you can’t keep up. I was in chicken feed before I got into computers.

“Man, look at this, you’ll love this, it’s a zoom box ... right there on your standard toolbar. Just click the down arrow to select the percentage you want ... right ... hey, two hundred percent, you’re a high roller. Terrific.

“Actually,” said Dave, looking suddenly profound, “I should probably show you how to create a document ... or would you rather learn to save one?”

“With the, ah, little I know about it, it seems you can’t save something you haven’t created.”

“Great line. A little religion there, right? OK. Creating a document. Click your New button on your standard toolbar. Hey. Very good. First thing you know, we’ll be into typing, editing, opening, and saving.”

Emma lunged from her chair and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door.

He went home early.

Parked outside his back stoop was a baby carriage. A double baby carriage, with a cheerful striped awning. Standing at the screen door, he heard a lively combination of sounds, including his dryer set on spin, his washing machine in the rinse cycle, his vacuum cleaner going full throttle, and something like rusty gate hinges moving back and forth.

Stepping inside, he discovered the gate hinges were squeals of joy and shrieks of delight. There on the kitchen floor in front of his stove were Sissy and Sassy, belted into small recliners that appeared to be rocking or jiggling.

Their attention was riveted on something hanging above them, which was attached to the light fixture. It was a gaggle of geese, and not only were they moving in a circle, but they were bobbing their heads and quacking.

“Well, well, well,” he said, peering down at two happy faces.

“Father!” said Puny, coming down the hall at a trot. “We’re glad as anything to see you! Th‘ girls are jus’ dyin’ to git t‘ know you! Looky here, Sassy it’s th’ Father, and Sissy, honey, you are soppin‘! Father, wouldn’t you like t’ play with Sassy while I change Sissy? Then you can hold Sissy while I feed Sassy! Won’t that be fun?”

Cynthia breezed in the back door at six o‘clock, carrying a pink rattle she had found in the yard. “Hello, darling! Aren’t those twins adorable?”

She laid the rattle on the table and peered at him. “Oh, dear, you don’t look so good.”

“You never mince words, Mrs. Kavanagh.”

“Well, but dearest, you don’t. Are you all right?”

“Oh ...” He shrugged, speechless.

“And what’s that on your shoulder? It looks like pigeon poop.”

“Really?”

“And your hair. It’s standing up funny on both sides.”

“No kidding.”

“Your eyes ...” she said, unrelenting, “they’re sort of ... glazed over.

 

“I’ll be darned.”

“If you were a drinking man, I’d offer you a double scotch.”

“If I were a drinking man,” he said, “I’d take it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HE CHECKED his calendar.

Following Holy Eucharist at eleven, he was having lunch with Miss Sadie and Louella, then racing home to put the new spread on Dooley’s bed, which he’d buy in Wesley following a nine o‘clock meeting at the Children’s Hospital, during which he would try to wrestle money from a donor—a job he hated more than anything on earth.

Dooley was arriving at the rectory at two-thirty, and they’d promised to give his friend’s parents a quick refreshment before they continued down the mountain to Holding.

Cheese and crackers ...

He was supposed to pick up cheese and crackers right after the meeting at the hospital—and don’t forget livermush. Russell Jacks was primed for livermush, and no two ways about it. The rector determined to buy six pounds and freeze four, and let Dooley make a delivery to his grandfather tomorrow morning. A fine boy in clean clothes, talking like a scholar and bearing two pounds of livermush? It was enough to make a man’s heart fairly burst with pride—his own as well as Russell’s.

He could hardly wait to see Dooley Barlowe, and Cynthia was preoccupied with her own excitement. She had cleaned the boy’s room to a fare-thee-well, hung new curtains, and bought a remote for his TV set.

After showing him her handiwork, they had passed the guest room and paused to look in.

“Next fall,” she said, eyeing the bare wall at the foot of the bed, “the armoire.”

“Next fall—the armoire,” he repeated.

“Right there,” she said, staring at the wall. “Perfect.”

“Next fall,” he said. “Perfect.”

Miss Sadie was wearing a blue dress with an ecru lace collar and one of her mother’s hand-painted brooches. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking finer. Her wrist appeared almost normal, and the car key was hanging on a hook in the kitchen, untouched in recent months, thanks be to God!

They sat down to green beans and cornbread, with glasses of cold milk all around, and held hands as he asked the blessing.

“Lord, we thank You for the richness of this life and our friendship, and for this hot, golden-crusted cornbread. Please bless the hands that prepared it, and make us ever mindful of the needs of others.”

They had hardly said “Amen” when Miss Sadie shook out her paper napkin as if it were starched damask and peered at him.

“I hear,” she said sternly, “that you’re fixing up a surprise party for my birthday.”