Light From Heaven (37 page)

Clarence signed to Sammy.

“It was used to bore pilot holes for nails. The handle is mahogany, the ferrule is beech. The handle feels really nice in the hand; it was probably used by four different woodworkers before Mr. Monk inherited it.”

Sammy pointed. “W-what’s ’at?”

Agnes’s fingers flew as she signed both questions and answers.

“A homemade brace or bitstock, it’s for drilling holes.”

“Do you use all ’is s-stuff when you work?”

“I used a lot of these tools on the pulpit, and on Mama’s walking stick.”

Father Tim was struck by the experience of Clarence’s woodworking shop; it was like nothing he’d never seen. Every tool hung in its place with others of its kind, including an assortment of bench planes, braces, hollows, and rounds; wooden shelves held bread trays and dough bowls of buckeye and poplar. A broom stood propped against a caned chair on a swept pine floor. In the corner, afternoon light slanted onto a mysterious wooden contraption with a grave and solemn dignity.

Agnes leaned on her cane. “And over there is some of the lovely work inspired by Mr. Monk’s influence.”

They turned to the rear wall where walking canes with carved handles hung in rows. Beneath the canes, a menagerie of carved animals was crowded onto a trestle table.

The vicar picked up a black bear and held it in a shaft of light. He turned it this way and that, entranced. In truth, he’d never seen a bear—until now.

“Clarence has made a gift for each of you,” said Agnes.

Clarence began handing the gifts around.

“For you, Father, a Gee-haw Whimmy Diddle. The Cherokee used it as a lie detector; Clarence will show you how to work it. For you, Cynthia, a Flipper Dinger, one tries to get the ball in the basket—and for you, Sammy, a Limber Jack who’ll dance on his board ’til the cows come home.We hope these old mountain toys will be a great lot of fun.”

Cynthia was beaming. “I’m having fun just hearing the names!”

As he left the churchyard, Father Tim took Agnes’s hand, his heart infused with a kind of joy he hadn’t known in years.

“You and Rooter teaching sign language, the pair of us teaching the prayer book ... why, we’ll be a regular university up here!”

“‘And now in age I bud again,’” she said, quoting their mutually well-favored poet.

“‘I once more smell the dew and rain!’” he responded. “By the way, what was thirty-eight across? Baloney was the clue, as I recall.”

“Utter nonsense!”

“
That
would be a good clue for what the church is sometimes known to advocate.”

Agnes’s ironic smile couldn’t be suppressed. “Surely you don’t dwell on that bitter subject.”

“Certainly not!” he said, grinning.

“Shall we take Sissie her Magic Markers and Violet books?” asked Cynthia as they clambered into the truck.

He looked at Sammy, who was wedged between Cynthia and the passenger door. “Will your seeds sprout without you, buddy?”

“Yeah. N-no problem.”

Soon, he’d have to do with Sammy what he’d done with Dooley: begin the long and arduous trial of changing
yeah
into
yes, sir
and
yes, ma’am
and
no
into
no, sir
and
no, ma’am.
Such instruction had led to a battle royal with Dooley Barlowe, but for all the pain and aggravation on both their parts, the seed had sprouted and come to flower. Truth was, he should have discussed this with Sammy at the beginning ...

“Consider it done!” he told his wife, turning left instead of right off the church lane.

“Did you talk Sparkle out of her grandmother’s recipe?”

“Right here,” he said, patting his jacket pocket. He would never put oatmeal in meat loaf again. No, indeed. Life was way too short.

Sissie answered the door in a T-shirt, pajama bottoms, and her yellow shoes. Her eyes were reddened and puffy.

“Mama’s sleepin’,” she said. “Granny’s here t’ make ‘er eat, but she won’t eat nothin’.”

“You remember Cynthia.” His wife didn’t like formal titles; she was Cynthia to one and all.

“Hey,” said Sissie, looking miserable.

“Hey, yourself. I brought you the books I promised.” She handed Sissie copies of
Violet Comes to Stay
and
Violet Goes to the Country.

Sissie studied the covers, silent.

“And here’s your Magic Markers.”

Sissie took the box, fretful. “I don’ know what is Magi Markers.”

“Where’s Donny?” asked Father Tim.

“We don’ know where ’e’s at. Donny’s drinkin’.”

Preachers had the right, as it were, to drop by unannounced, but pressing to be invited in was another matter.

He and Cynthia looked at each other.

“Why don’t you ask Sammy to wait for us,” she said. “Perhaps he’d like to look for Indian pipes in the woods. And give me a few minutes with Dovey and Granny before you come in.”

“You got t’ eat, Mama.”

“I don’ want to, Sissie.”

“You got to! Granny says you’ll die if y’ don’t.”

“Nossir,” Granny argued. “I didn’ say nothin’ ‘bout dyin’. I said she cain’t live if she don’t eat.”

Sissie put her fists on her hips. “ ’At’s th’ same as dyin’! ”

Sissie stomped to the bed. “Looky here, Mama, I’m goin’ t’ dance f‘r you, OK? Turn y’r head an’ look over here, I’m dancin’ f‘r you in m’ yeller shoes. I’m dancin’ f’r you, Mama! Please
eat
!”

“Come, Sissie.” Father Tim held his arms out to her, and she came and sat on his lap, reluctant. “Dovey, there are some things we have to do whether we want to or not. You must take some nourishment.”

“Bring me m’ plate an’ all, then.”

“Hit’s green beans an’ mashed taters,” said Sissie. “An’ what else, Granny?”

“A little stew beef cooked plenty done, with some tasty broth.”

“What’s ’em red things?”

“Beets.”

“She don’ like beets.”

Granny looked firm. “Beets is got
arn.
She needs arn if she’s goin’ t’ git out of that bed.”

Sissie jumped off his lap and took the plate from Granny.

“Arn, Mama, you need
arn
,” she said, proffering the plate.

“Help me up, then.”

Cynthia helped Dovey sit up, and rearranged the pillows behind her. “After you eat, I’d like to brush your hair and help you change your pajamas. Would you like that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ll send Father Tim outside. Will you drink some water?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you. An’ I need m’ medicine. You can put water in m’ pitcher if y’ don’t mind.”

Cynthia went to the sink with the transferware pitcher, Sissie following with instructions.

“You got t’ hold th’ bottom real good, th’ handle’s been broke off an’ pasted back two times. Mama’s had it since she was little, an’ all ’er pretty dishes, too. Her whole set’s got a castle on it, with cows in th’ yard an’ a river, but it’s near about all broke an’ pasted back. Mamaw Ruby give it to ’er, Mama said maybe I could have it when I’m big.”

“I wisht you’d take this young ‘un on y’r rounds sometime,” Granny told the vicar. “She never gits out t’ hardly do nothin’, stays pent up here like a bunny in a cage.”

“Sissie, how would you like to come with Agnes and me one day—on our rounds?”

“What’s y’r rounds?”

“We visit people. And talk.You like to talk.”

“Oh, Lord help,” said Granny. “She never hushes up!”

“Look!” said Sissie. “Mama took a bite! She’s chewin’!”

He stepped outside with Granny where they found Rooter examining a worm crawling on his pant leg. They thumped down in plastic chairs that had seen more than a little weather.

“Where was you at?” Granny asked Rooter.

“You said don’t come in, so I went up th’ road an’ found ’is worm.”

“Well, don’t set on it an’ mess up y’r britches.” Granny looked around at the small company, pleased with another chance to socialize. “We can watch th’ cars go by!”

Though unable to find Indian pipes, Sammy staggered from the woods with a more valuable find. He thunked a large rock into the truck bed. “Hit’ll catch th’ garden gate when it swings back.”

“Well done! Come and sit with us, buddy; we’ll be going soon.”

Sammy pulled up a chair next to Rooter, nodding to Granny.

“Did you‘uns know Donny’s mama shot ’is daddy?” Rooter asked the vicar. The worm traveled up his forearm.

“We know.”

“Kilt ‘im dead. An’ I reckon y’ know Robert kilt ’is granpaw? He was in jail a long time; Granny says longer’n I been alive.”

“Don’ talk about that awful mess,” said Granny.

“Did you see him do it?” Father Tim asked Rooter.

Rooter picked the worm off his arm and studied it in his palm. “I wadn’t alive when he done it.”

“How do you know he did it?”

“Ol’ Fred what lives in th’ school bus said Robert done it, sure as fire. Ol’ Fred’s got voices in ’is head; he talks t’ people that ain’t even there.”