These High, Green Hills (39 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: These High, Green Hills
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“They left a letter out of th‘ dadgum thing.”
“You don’t mean it.”
“But they knocked fifty bucks off th‘ price.”
“The least they could do.”
“I started to tell ‘em to jus’ shove th’ whole business, but ...” Percy shrugged, despondent.
“Go ahead and make me a tuna melt. I’ve got some leeway in my diet today. Be right back.”
He jaywalked toward the other side of the street, barely dodging Esther Bolick in her husband’s pickup truck. Esther screeched to a halt and leaned out the window. “I hear th‘ mayor leaked the news to Miss Sadie.”
“We’re forging ahead.”
“I’m not doing orange marmalade,” said Esther. “I’m doing peanut butter. Three layers, with jelly in between. Apple or grape?”
“Grape!”
“For gosh sake, get out of the street before somebody nails you,” she said, roaring off.
Safely on the other side, he turned and peered at the banner over Percy’s awning.
Eat Here Once, And You’ll Be Regular
He guffawed, slapping his leg.
But whoa. He couldn’t stand here laughing. What if Percy looked out the window and saw him?
He turned his back to the Grill as if he were examining the brickwork in the post office, and hooted. The postmaster stuck his head out the door and pointed to the banner, grinning. “I’ve also known it to be otherwise,” he reported.
He trotted across the street. “Percy,” he said, soberly, “I’d give the banner company their fifty dollars back.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that banner is going to be the talk of the town.”
Percy brightened. “You think so?”
“That’s what advertising is all about, isn’t it?”
“Well ...” said Percy.
“Trust me on this,” said the rector.
Cynthia put her arm around his waist. “You want me to do it?”
“I’ll do it,” he said.
He went to the study and sat at his desk and dialed the Owens. Barnabas followed and lay down at his feet.
“Hello? Meadowgate here.”
“Marge? Timothy.”
“Timothy!”
“I won’t keep you ...”
“That’s OK, Rebecca is sleeping and Hal is at a Grange meeting. How are you?”
“Good. Dooley says he’s coming out to you for the summer.”
“Is he? I ... I didn’t know, exactly. I said if you all agreed ...”
“It’s what he wants to do. Just wanted you to know that I’ll need him here until Miss Sadie’s party on Sunday the fourteenth.”
“Of course! Well ... yes. Miss Sadie’s party. We’re looking forward to it.”
“He’s singing, you see.”
“I see.”
Long pause.
“Well, Marge. Thanks for everything. When shall we have him out there?”
“Oh ... anytime. Just anytime that suits. Perhaps you could ... send him home with us after the party?”
“Good. All the best to Hal, then.”
“Yes, and to Cynthia.”
He hung up, feeling his stomach wrench. He had never before been uncomfortable with Marge Owen; she had, in fact, been the one who had made him most comfortable from the very beginning. How often had he put his feet under their table, in the peace of the old farmhouse, while the duties of a new and difficult parish kept him spinning?
Another thing. It was clear that Dooley Barlowe hadn’t exercised the good sense or common courtesy even to tell them he was definitely coming.
He hated this. He hated it.
“I’m excited, Father, I just wanted you to know it.” It was Sadie Baxter, and the old zing was back in her voice.
“That’s what I like to hear. We’re excited, too. It’s mighty hard to dig up a brass band these days, but we’re trying.”
“Don’t you go to any trouble, now!”
“Trouble? Why, Miss Sadie, trouble is what it’s all about! If nobody went to any trouble in this world, the church would never have a roof. Cornbread would never get baked. Boys would never go to school.”
She laughed. “Cynthia says Dooley is coming to visit us today.”
“Around two o‘clock, I think. You’ll be looking at a new boy.”
“Not so new he won’t be hungry. You tell him not to stand on ceremony. Louella is fixing lemonade and cinnamon stickies just like Mama used to make.”
“I’m jealous.”
“You’re a case is what you are!”
“Worse has been said,” he assured her.
He woke up with it on his mind, and went downstairs to his study, padding as quietly as he could through the bedroom.
Five o‘clock.
He had been getting up at five a.m. for years. It had become his appointed hour, even if he’d gone to sleep wretchedly late.
He leaned against the mantel and stretched, breathing the prayer he learned from his grandmother:
Lord
,
make me a blessing to someone today
.
Good. So good to stretch, to come alive, he thought, pushing up on the balls of his feet.
He would make coffee, he would read the Morning Office and pray, he would sit quietly for twenty minutes; then he’d go to the hospital, a round he made every morning, with rare exceptions.
Visiting the sick continued to be good medicine, as far as he was concerned. If he was having a rough go of it, all he had to do was pop up the hill to the hospital and self-concern went out the window.
When he retired, he intended to keep at that very thing....
When he retired?
He let the tension go from his arms and stood holding the mantel.
When he
retired
. Where had that come from?
He went to the kitchen and ground the beans and brewed the coffee, feeling an odd blessing in this simple daily ritual. A ritual of well-being, of safekeeping, in the still and slumbering house.
He took the steaming cup and set it next to his wing chair, then turned on the lamp and picked up his worn prayerbook.
This was the time to fill the tank for the day’s ride. He could put in a quarter of a tank and, later, get stranded on the road, or he could pump in a full measure now and go the distance.
But something was pushing ahead of the Morning Office.
Why haven’t You answered those questions? he asked silently.
He had received nothing in that hour at the church but a sense of calm. That in itself was an answer, but not the one he was looking for.
Forgiveness
.
He felt the word slowly inscribe itself on his heart, and knew at once. This simple thing was the answer.
“Forgiveness,” he said aloud. “Forgiveness is the lesson of the cave....
He sat still, and waited.
“And what about Dooley, Lord? Why does Dooley pull away from us?”
Again, a kind of inscription.
Ditto
.
He shook his head. Ditto? God didn’t talk like that; God didn’t say ditto. He laughed out loud. Ditto?
He felt his spirit lifting.
Ditto! Of course God talks like that, if He wants to.
He got up and walked to the window and looked out at the new dawn.
He would have to forgive Dooley Barlowe and Marge and Hal Owen, whether he liked it or not.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The One for the Job
COOT HENDRICK passed the rear booth on his way to the men’s room. “I bin eatin‘ here thirty years,” he said, “an’ I ain’t regular yet.”
“Percy’ll give you a dish of prunes,” said Mule. Mule looked at the rector and dropped his voice. “Did you see who came in behind you?”
“Who?”
“Officer Lynwood. She’s sittin‘ at th’ counter.”
“Aha.”
Mule whistled. “Man ...”
“Man what?”
“What makes J.C. think he can handle that? She’s packin‘ a nine-millimeter.”
The rector laughed.
“Yogurt and dry toast won’t hack that, in my opinion.”
“J.C.’s not interested in your opinion.”
“No kidding. What’s your boy doin‘ this summer?”
“He’s going to Meadowgate to help Hal Owen.”
“I thought you were planning some big surprise camping trip, just you and him.”
“I was planning that, but I’ve recently had enough surprise camping, thank you.”
“There’s J.C. comin‘ in. Well, I’ll be ... he nodded to her like he never saw her before in his life.”
“That’s standard.”
“It is?”
“When you’re in love, sometimes you act like you don’t know the other person.”
“Is that a fact? I never acted like that. Did you?”
“Over and over again,” said the rector.
“Why?”
“Beats me.”
“Whoa, he’s sittin‘ down right next to her. But he’s not even lookin’ her way.”
“That’s a sure sign.”
“Of what?”
“Of something serious.”
A long silence ensued while Mule peered toward the counter.
“Seems like he’d at least step back here and speak to his friends. After all, we’ve been meetin‘ in this booth for fifteen years. Maybe he’s just chewin’ the fat with Percy, maybe he’ll walk on back in a minute or two. Dadgum. Percy just handed him a cup of coffee and some silverware. I can’t believe it—th‘ blame fool is goin’ to eat at the counter.”
“He’s outta here,” said the rector.
“What’ll y‘all have?” asked Velma.
“Who cares?” sighed Mule, looking despondent.

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