Light From Heaven (52 page)

He sat.

“Where’s Miss Agnes at?”

“She’s got a stiff knee.”

Jubal looked petulant. “I reckon she’s done f’rgot about me.”

“Oh, no, she wouldn’t forget about you, not by a long shot. How’s th’ squirrel business?”

“May’s m’ cut-off date, but hit’s been s’ cold, I’ll be a-shootin’ squirrel f’r another week or two.”

“Your gun ...”

“What about it?”

“It’s, ah, pointing at me.”

“They ain’t nothin’ in it, far as I know.” Jubal aimed the pistol above his head and pulled the trigger.
Click
. “That’s one empty chamber f’r ye.”

The vicar bolted to his feet. “We’ve caused enough trouble for one day, we’ll just be pushing on.”

“Ye ain’t got ary eggs, are ye?”

“No eggs today. Next time. I promise.” That gun was waving around in his face for a fare-thee-well; he was out of here.

“Ye wouldn’ be goin’ by Miss Martha, would ye?”

“I would, I would. Directly by.”

“I shot two squirrel this mornin’ b’fore th’ dew was off; they’re done skinned out, nice an’ meaty. I could send ’em with ye ...”

“I’m sure Miss Martha wouldn’t want to take food off your table.”

“They’s more where them come from.”

“Well, then, I’ll be glad to make a delivery!” Father Tim had suspected all along that a big heart beat beneath Jubal Adderholt’s beard.

“Course ye know I’ll be expectin’ somethin’ from Miss Martha.”

“Aha.”

“An’ I’d be obliged if ye’d drop it off on y’r way back.”

How he got himself in this mess, he couldn’t figure. He had to haul out of there securing a poke of squirrels between his feet, with his dog going nuts in the passenger seat.

And, of course, Miss Martha wasn’t at home.

He couldn’t leave this particular offering stuck in the screen door like a morning newspaper. Indeed, today’s high was predicted to be in the seventies, and what if the sisters didn’t come home ’til the afternoon?

“Lord have mercy!” he said aloud, quoting Granny.

“I hate that y’ found out about m’ drinkin’. Sissie says she tol’ you.

“Tells ever’thing, that young’un. I’d ‘preciate it if you wouldn’t preach me a sermon, I’ve done preached m’self half t’ hell an’ back.

“Ever’thing’ll go along good for a while, then somethin’ happens, I cain’t even tell y’ what it is. It’s like goin’ down th’ road and all at once th’ road jis’ drops off a cliff. I see th’ drop comin’ but like a fool I keep walkin’.

“I want t’ quit, I’ve prayed t’ quit, I’ve tried t’ quit, but I keep fallin’ off th’ cliff. An’ besides th’ worser thing of lettin’ th’ Lord down, I don’ have time t’ mess with alcohol, I got a b’iness t’ run. Th’ way things is goin’ with havin’ t’ take care of Dovey an’ Sissie, it’s root hog or die.”

Donny leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands.

“My daddy was th’ worst sot you ever seen, an’ you know what th’ Ol’Testament says about th’ sins of th’ fathers. But I believe God t’ be a merciful God, otherwise he wouldn’ve sent Jesus. I b’lieve th’ sins of th’ fathers runs in us like poison, but we’re not bound. He was willin’ t’ die f’r us on th’ cross so we wouldn’t be bound, but set free.”

Indeed, Donny had preached him a sermon; one that Madelaine Kavanagh, his mother, would have called the gospel truth.

“Can I go on y’r rounds? Can I?” She stood on her tiptoes and held her arms out to him.

“Not today, Sissie.” He bent down and picked her up. “Whoa, you’re growing!”

“I ain’t a baby n’more, that’s why.”

“I’m glad your mother’s sleeping. How’s she feeling?”

“She don’t hardly sleep at night, she sleeps mostly in th’ day.”

His heart felt heavy against the child in his arms, against the things of the world in general.

“We’ll look for at you at church on Sunday. We’re having our first Sunday School, you know.”

Sissie furrowed her brow. “Are they cake at Sunday School?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He set her down, and squatted beside her. “May I pray for you, Sissie?”

She bowed her head; he placed his hand upon it.

“Father, I thank You for the marvel of Sissie Gleason. For her bright spirit, her inquisitive mind, her tender heart. Thank You for blessing her life above anything I could ask or think. Prepare a way for her, Lord, that she might become all You made her to be. In Jesus’ name ...”

Sissie squeezed her eyes shut. “An’ Lord, please make Mama better, make Donny quit drinkin’, bring Mamaw Ruby home, an’ give us cheese dogs f’r supper t’night.”

“Amen!” they said in unison.

He was feeling suddenly brighter.

While at the trailer, he’d parked in the shade, set the bag of squirrels under the truck, and made sure the windows were rolled high enough to contain his dog.

He looked at his watch as he pulled out of Donny’s yard. He had no idea how long his cargo had sat in Jubal’s kitchen before he picked it up forty-five minutes ago.

He applied his lead foot to the accelerator and hauled to Hank Triplett’s store at the crossroads.

“Do you have a freezer I could put this bag in, and maybe pick it up later in the day?”

“What’s in y’r bag?”

“Two squirrels. Dressed.”

Hank pondered this. “Don’t think that’d be too good. I mean they’s ice cream san‘wiches an’ all in there.”

“Right. Well.” He smoked over the shelves and bought pretzels, chips, Snickers, assorted crackers, and a lump of what country stores call rat cheese. He also exchanged the paper bag for a plastic bag and dumped ice in on the contents, managing not to look.

“See you and Sally on Sunday, I hope.”

“We’ll be there,” said Hank, looking pleased about it.

He knocked on five doors, only one of which was slammed in his face, but lacked courage to approach the sixth, which sat in the midst of a private junkyard. He also stuffed seven mailboxes, and posted flyers on nine telephone poles. On the way to the schoolhouse, he stopped to offer a ride to an elderly man who was walking along the right-hand side of the road in a pair of overalls and a battered hat.

He rolled the window down a few inches. “Need a lift?”

The old man looked up with alarm into the face of a black dog that seemed only slightly smaller than the truck, and turned and fled into the woods.

Clearly, Barnabas was not a good marketing tool.

“Agnes,” he said, hurrying into the schoolhouse, “would you mind if I put this bag in your freezer?”

“Of course not, Father. What’s in it, may I ask?”

“There’s the rub. Two squirrels, dressed out and ready to go in Miss Martha’s pot, but she wasn’t home.”

Agnes burst into laughter. “You’ve been to see Jubal.”

“Yes, and he asked about you. Said he reckoned you’d forgotten him.”

“The old so-and-so. Who could ever forget Jubal Adderholt?”

“Not me!” he said, meaning it.

“How was your round?”

He stuffed the bag into the freezer and gave her a synopsis.

“I’ll just put the kettle on for tea; I’m eager to hear your plan, Father.”

He drew the papers from the large envelope and sat down at her table. “This will be a surprise even to Cynthia. So, please—keep it absolutely to yourself.”

“Consider it done,” she said, quoting her vicar.

On his way to Meadowgate, he gave it another go.

He tried the front door and went around to the back. As tight as Fort Knox.

He hoped nothing was wrong; the sisters were usually here except for grocery shopping days.

He schlepped the bag around to the front yard and got in the truck, noting that Barnabas had at last lost interest. What a blasted pickle.