Light From Heaven (41 page)
Authors: Jan Karon
“Will do,” said the shepherd, still looking perplexed.
“Have you ever noticed, Father, the peculiar surnames of certain clergy? When I first came here, Father Church was our priest, and I read an article recently by Father Paradise.”
He chuckled. “In my time, I’ve known a Father Divine, a Bishop Steeple ... oh, and a Bishop Bell. Old Bishop Bell! A force to be reckoned with! And let’s see, there was Father Cross in Alabama. Wallace Cross, as I recall.”
“What do you make of it?” she asked.
He laughed heartily. “I’ve never known what to make of it!”
They bumped along on their way to pick up Sissie. A day of stinging cold, though with bright sun and clear skies. Agnes huddled on the passenger side in a heavy, albeit threadbare, coat.
“Well, then, we’d best move along to more important considerations. What am I saying, Father?” Agnes signed something familiar, then something puzzling and strange. Their lessons for the week had begun.
“Law, look who’s here! Sister, come see who’s callin’ on us!”
Miss Mary shuffled into the parlor, her cheeks flushed from the stove.
“It’s Miss Sissie Gleason in her Sunday-go-to-meetin’ shoes!” announced Miss Martha.
Miss Mary clapped her hands. “Oh, my
mercy!
It’s Miss Sissie Gleason in ’er Sunday-go-t’-meetin’ shoes!”
mercy!
It’s Miss Sissie Gleason in ’er Sunday-go-t’-meetin’ shoes!”
Proud, Sissie stuck up one foot and then the other.
“And us without a crumb in th’ house!” Miss Martha looked stricken. “Well, come in, come in, we’ll find something sweet in th’ painted cabinet; we always do.”
“No, ma’am,” he said, “we didn’t come to eat, we came to make a delivery and see your smiling faces. Then we’ll be on our way.”
“You don’t turn up at th’ McKinney sisters without puttin’ your feet under th’ table. Come in th’ kitchen where it’s warm! This part of th’ house has been closed off for five years, it’s a morgue in here!”
“Five!” said Sissie. “That’s how many I am!”
Miss Martha was herding them along like so many sheep, no matter how he and Agnes might protest. Truth be told, he was happy to be herded into the sisters’ kitchen where they received a salutatory blast of oak-fired heat.
“Ladies, Cynthia estimates you used up your dozen for that splendid cake. Here’s a replacement.”
“Look at that! An answer to prayer if I ever saw one. Less than ten minutes ago, I said, Lord, there’s nobody to carry us to the store for eggs and we’re plumb out!”
“Plumb
out,”
affirmed Miss Mary.
out,”
affirmed Miss Mary.
“We can carry you to the store,” he said. “Glad to.”
“Where on earth would we all ride?” Miss Martha asked. “One of us would have to be tied on top, and it wouldn’t be me!”
“It wouldn’ be me!” piped Miss Mary.
“It wouldn’ be me, neither!” announced Sissie, who was, nonetheless, intrigued by the idea.
“I’ll be staying behind to poke up the fire,” said Agnes, “so it wouldn’t be me.”
“And it absolutely,
positively
wouldn’t be me,” said the vicar. “I’m driving!”
positively
wouldn’t be me,” said the vicar. “I’m driving!”
They all had a good laugh.
“Thomas will carry us on Friday,” declared Miss Martha, “which leaves us free to enjoy the afternoon. Got your tillin’ done, Father?”
“Sammy just got the patch cleaned up and the rotted manure down; tilling is right around the corner. How about you?”
“I’m not putting in a garden this year. Too much bloomin’ work!”
Miss Mary nodded furiously. “Too much bloomin’ work!”
“Where’s y’r painted cab’net at?”
“Now, Sissie,” said Father Tim.
“It’s in this little room right here behind the stove.” Miss Martha opened the door, revealing a dark, unheated space with bead board walls and canned goods on shelves lined with oilcloth. “It’s right back here; come on, don’t fall over that tub of potatoes. I’ll just switch on th’ lightbulb.”
He and Agnes had made their way to the door and saw the painted cabinet at the end of the small room.
Miss Martha pointed to it with pride. “Walnut off th’ home place. Our papa made it, bless his soul.”
“An’ our mama painted it,” said Miss Mary. “Bless hers, too!”
“Beautiful!” exclaimed Agnes.
“Papa was mighty grieved to see walnut painted over, I can tell you that! But he loved our dear mother, and the paint made it doubly precious in the end.
“See the cow on the right-hand door? That was mama’s cow when she was growing up. Its name was Flower, she did this from memory. And over here’s our house, the very one you’re standing in. And here on the other door is Papa’s bird dog, Ol’ Mack, and his favorite wagon team.”
“A treasure,” said Father Tim. “Wonderfully executed!”
“What’s in it?” demanded Sissie.
“Never mind that, young lady, pay attention while I tell you what’s on it.
“Right here on the top drawer is Wilson’s Creek; see it winding through the mountains? And over here’s our little dog, Tater.”
Sissie peered at the image of the spotted dog. “Does he live in th’ house? I want t’ see im.”
“Tater passed on,” said Miss Martha. “Fifty years ago this June.”
“Johnny had a dog; its name was President Roosevelt, we called ’im Teddy ...”
“Now! Bottom drawer, here’s Miss Agnes’s schoolhouse with the old bell—and over here by th’ knob is ... what’s this, Sissie Gleason?”
“Th’ church me’n’ Granny goes to!”
“Yes! Holy Trinity. With a shake roof, before they put on the green tin.”
“A gem!” said the vicar.
Sissie stomped her foot, impatient. “What’s in y’r cab’net?”
“You stomp that foot again, miss, and you’ll never lay eyes on what’s in this cabinet. You hear me?” Miss Martha was ten feet tall.
“Yeah.”
“Yes,
ma’am,”
instructed Miss Martha.
ma’am,”
instructed Miss Martha.
“Yes, ma’am, what’s in y’r cab’net, please!”
Miss Martha looked at the vicar and sighed. “It’s the squeakin’ wheel that gets the grease,” she said, opening the cabinet door.
“Oh, law! Enough apple butter to sink a ship! But no biscuit to put it on.”
She closed the door and opened a drawer.
“Why, look here, Sister, I forgot about the cookies I baked on Saturday! Nice and chewy; oatmeal with raisin! I’d forget my head if it wasn’t tied on. Sister, set out five glasses, we’ll want milk with these cookies.”
Oatmeal with raisin! His favorite!
He lingered with Miss Martha as her sister walked with Agnes and Sissie to the truck.
“What do you know about Donny?”
“The finest boy you’d ever want to meet, but a drinking problem. They say he doesn’t drink right along, but, how do they say it? In binges. And no wonder, if you ask me.”
“Did you know Robert Prichard’s grandfather?”
“Everybody knew Cleve Prichard, and there’s not a soul on this ridge that misses th’ low-down sonofagun!”
“That’s plain talking.”
“He was nothin’ but trouble. Only two people showed up at his funeral. Agnes Merton was one, because he used to work on her truck, and I can’t recollect the other. You know Robert says he didn’t do it, and to tell the truth, I believe him!”
“I believe him, also.”
“Some say a convicted murderer oughtn’t to be in church.”
“Who says that?”
“I’ve already spoken a wicked thing against the dead, and I’ll not go tattlin’ into the bargain!”
“What made Cleve Prichard low-down, as you say?”
“Gambling and drugs! Bringing lowlife into our little holler! Corrupting our young! Running that hateful homemade!”
“People still make whiskey?”
“They certainly do; it’s not ancient history in
these
hills. But to be fair, I’ll say this about Cleve Prichard—he didn’t start out mean and no-account. He was a hard worker, and was making a good name for himself, but he was weak-minded and fell in with the wrong crowd.”
these
hills. But to be fair, I’ll say this about Cleve Prichard—he didn’t start out mean and no-account. He was a hard worker, and was making a good name for himself, but he was weak-minded and fell in with the wrong crowd.”
The truck horn blared. Sissie, no doubt.
“Full of herself!” Miss Martha declared. “Dangles her participles! Needs a firm hand!”
Leanna Millwright was home, as were her seven sick and coughing children. She took a flyer and asked the vicar to drop by another day.
Rankin Cooper was looking for two cows that had gotten loose from the pasture; Mr. Cooper met the truck in the road as they slowed to turn into his driveway. He was a lapsed Baptist, he said, but a God-fearing Christian, and would consider visiting Holy Trinity if he could talk his wife into it, which he seriously doubted, as she stemmed from Methodists.
They left leaflets with everyone, and resupplied the store at the bridge. He was pleased that the owner, Hank Triplett, remembered him from a former visit.
“The little church on the ridge is up and running,” the vicar told the several customers. “We welcome one and all!”
“It’s th’ church me’n’ Granny goes to,” Sissie announced. “They always got cookies, an’ sometimes they got
cake!
” She lifted one foot in case anyone wanted a closer look at her yellow shoes.
cake!
” She lifted one foot in case anyone wanted a closer look at her yellow shoes.
As they walked to the truck, Sissie reached up and took his hand.
“I like helpin’ you’uns out,” she said.
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