These High, Green Hills (54 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: These High, Green Hills
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He knew at once that he would lie. “Fine. Don’t worry.” What if it was, in fact, a lie? Could LM have done something as sinister to the boy? He would face that later.
“Who ... has him?”
“He’s in good hands.”
The tears continued. “So much ... to tell you,” she managed to say.
“I want to hear.”
“Th‘ pain ... ”
“Yes.” They had given her a shot only minutes before.
“I want you to know ... ” Her eye closed, and she began to breathe quietly.
“Yes?” he said.
“That I can bear it.”
“I can do all things through Christ ... ,” he said, quoting the first part of Olivia’s favorite verse from Philippians. He could scarcely hear her response.
“... who strengthens me,” she whispered.
“What’re you havin‘?” asked Velma, as J.C. slid into the booth.
“Wheaties and skim milk.”
Velma raised her eyebrows. “No coffee?”
“I’m off coffee.”
Mule sighed. “Here we go again,” he said, as Velma moved to the next booth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” glowered the editor.
“I mean, why don’t you marry th‘ woman and get it over with?”
“What woman?”
“Adele Lynwood! Who else would I be talkin‘ about?”
The rector blew on his steaming coffee, ready to duck. It was clear that Mule Skinner was tired of intrigue and cover-up. He wanted to see cards on the table.
J.C. sat back in the booth, looking exhausted, and wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Dadblame it,” he said.
“Dadblame what?” queried Mule, pressing on.
“I guess you know about Adele.”
“Any ninny can see you’re sweet on her. What we don’t know is—what in th‘ dickens is goin’ on?”
“Dern if I can figure it out,” said J.C. “One minute it’s on, the next minute it’s off.”
“One minute it’s Wheaties, the next minute it’s grits,” said the rector.
“Right,” said Mule.
The rector swigged his coffee. “Sounds pretty typical to me.”
J.C. leaned forward. “It does?”
“Sure. One day you know, one day you don’t. Pretty soon, if it’s right, you
really
know.”
“Oh.”
“But how do you know if you really know?” asked Mule.
The rector looked slightly dazed. “I don’t know,” he said, meaning it.
Mule sighed. “We’re kind of rusty at this.”
“How come she wants me to get off coffee and axe the fat and lower my cholesterol if she wouldn’t go out with me last night? I mean, what’s th‘ deal?”
“Maybe she had to work,” said Mule, wanting to help.
“No way. She was home cleanin‘ her gun.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I called her up and that’s what she said she was doing.”
“Where had you offered to take her?” asked the rector.
“To Brendle’s, they were having a sale on Tri-X film.”
“No wonder she stayed home to clean a gun,” said Mule.
“Have you sent her flowers?” asked Father Tim. “That’s a good thing to do.”
“Flowers? To a woman who carries a nine-millimeter?”
“Whoa, buddy,” said Mule. “You’re soundin’t mighty macho there. It’s th‘ woman’s
job
to carry a gun.”
“Women like flowers,” said the rector. “It’s that simple. Maybe she’s trying to look after your best interests, and you’re not looking after hers.”
J.C. scratched his head. “I don’t think that’s it. I sent my first wife flowers once, and look what happened.”
“Once won’t cut it,” said the rector.
“Right,” said Mule.
“Do you care about her?” asked Father Tim.
J.C. turned red. “Yeah. I care about her. We go out. We do stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Oh, this and that. She cooks at her place pretty often, I took pork chops once.”
Mule looked at the rector.
“Sounds like there’s a whole lot of
once
in the way you operate,” said Father Tim. “Once you sent flowers, once you took pork chops.”
“Yeah,” said Mule.
“There’s the problem,” said the rector.
“So? So I’m supposed to go crawling on my belly like a snake to get this woman interested in me again?”
“Sending flowers is not crawling on your belly.”
“And why take pork chops,” asked Mule, “if she’s tryin‘ to get you off fat and cholesterol? You ought to take ... let’s see ... ”
“Tofu,” said the rector.
“Man!” said J.C., mopping his face. “If I listen to you turkeys, I’ll be in up to my neck.”
Mule leaned back for Velma to set his plate down. “You’re in so deep now, you need a bloomin‘ shovel. And why not listen to us? We’ve got credentials.”
“Right,” said the rector. “We’re married.”
“By th‘ dern grace of God, if you ask me,” said J.C.
“Right again,” agreed Father Tim.
“OK, I’ll listen,” sighed the editor. “But just this once.”
He could hardly wait to leave the office and get to the hospital, where, according to Nurse Kennedy, Pauline Barlowe had been up to the bathroom and was drinking juice.
We’re still praying, Kennedy had said, pneumonia is a possibility, infection is a likelihood—we’re not out of the woods by a long shot.
He was finishing his sermon notes, which Emma, God love her, had offered to key into the computer, when he heard a knock on the door.
“Father?”
Olivia Harper stuck her head in the office and smiled. “Is this a good time?”
He got up and went to greet her. “It’s always a good time for you.”
“I just wanted to talk to you about something at Aunt Sadie’s.”
“Sit in Emma’s chair. Want some bubble gum?”
She took a piece. “What in the world are you doing with bubble gum?”
“Amy Larkin keeps me supplied.”
She laughed. “Who doesn’t love you?”
“Don’t tell me that. I’ll get the big head.”
“You know we were thrilled with Aunt Sadie’s memorial service. Thank you for talking about who she was and what she stood for.”
“It’s important to do that in a small community, important to talk about the loved one. It departs a bit from the traditional Anglican burial service, but ... ”
“But this is the
South
!” she said, laughing.
He grinned. “What’s up?”
“There’s a mahogany chest of drawers at Fernbank, which Louella says I should have. I just wanted to check with you before I go rifling through.”
“My dear, you don’t have to check with me. Take whatever you want, and after Louella’s gone through, Cynthia and I will go through. Miss Sadie would have wanted it that way, she just assumed we’d know that. After all, you’re blood kin.”
“I had my great-aunt for such a short time.”
“That you had her at all was supernatural.”
“You’re so right,” she said, as the phone rang.
“Lord’s Chapel, Father Kavanagh speaking.”
“Father Kavanagh, Doug Wyeth at social services in Wesley. We thought you’d like to know the DA’s office was successful.”
“They were?”
“We have Lacey.”
He felt caught off guard.
“We’re looking for a foster home, but so far nothing has worked out. We’ve established there are no other relatives, at least none that we can locate.”
“What will you do, then?” he asked.
“If we can’t work out the foster care, she’ll have to go down the mountain to an emergency shelter.”
That didn’t sound good.
“I know your interest in this case, Father. Would you be open to taking her on a temporary basis? You’re not licensed for foster care, but we could get you authorized temporarily.”
“Let me ... think about it,” he said. “I’d have to ... Let me call you back in, what, half an hour?”
“Fine. You have my number.”
“How is Lace?”
“Angry,” said Doug Wyeth.
He put the phone down and shook his head.
“Lace?” asked Olivia.
“The district attorney’s office. They found her—she’s with social services. They’re trying to get her in foster care, but haven’t been successful yet.”
Olivia sat forward in the chair. “Let us take her, Father.”
“Good Lord, Olivia! You can’t know what you’re saying.”
“But I do. Hoppy and I, we’ve talked about taking someone in. We thought it would be Louella until Hope House opens, but it worked out so beautifully for Winnie to keep Louella company. I liked Lace. We can do it.”
“But surely it would be too much....” The idea seemed wildly improbable.
“Father, God spared my life! Against impossible odds, he gave me a new heart. I believe to this day it was yours and Hoppy’s prayers that opened the gates of heaven and worked miracles with my transplant. All that for what?” she asked, her violet eyes dark with feeling.
“To be the happy wife of a wonderful man? I need to give something back. I may not do it well, but I shall give it everything I’ve got. Let us take Lace.”
Why shouldn’t he grant this request to the woman whose lifetime verse was one he’d just quoted to Pauline Barlowe?
“Besides,” she said, pressing on, “look what you’ve done with Dooley.”
Surely, as clergy, his word could help get the Harpers authorized.
“Call them back,” she urged, meaning it.
She was hoarse, still, and could only whisper. “When you looked at me ... ” she said, trying to swallow.
He waited.
“ ... and cried, I felt some of the pain leave me.”
“Really?” He was croaking like a frog. Who could tell which one of them had had a tube shoved down their trachea? “I’m glad.”
“I think I always know when you come, no matter how much morphine.”
“Yes. Good.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because ... ” What could he say, after all? Because I love your son with all my heart? Because any mother of his is a friend of mine? Because you were sufferering and that was enough for me? Who knows why? The truth was, he had come because they called him, and then he started caring and couldn’t stop.
“I’ve done ... terrible things.”
“Haven’t we all?” he asked with feeling.
Her tears came freely. “Terrible,” she said again.
He stood with her and waited.
“My children. I gave ‘em away.”
He nodded, understanding that the tears would swell her eyes and cause more pain and discomfort. Pain, and endless pain, he thought.
“What ... is your name?” she asked.
“Timothy Kavanagh. Father Kavanagh.”
“You’re the one who has Dooley.”
“Yes.”
“I knew you had him. They said...”
“What did they say?” he asked gently.
“They said you sent him ... to school.”
“A friend sent him. It’s helping. He’s healing.”
“Healing.” She closed her eye, and the tears continued to flow. She was silent for a long time. “I wanted to see him.... I sat in front of your house twice, hoping to see him. But I heard you were good to him, and so ... I let him be.”

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