Light From Heaven (63 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

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“That was a tough rack.”

“Pretty hot shooter.”

“She’s th’ champion sh-shooter in th’ whole United S-states. Look how many b-b-balls she made on that break.”

“
Man
,”
said Dooley
. “Could you do that?”

He stood at the upstairs linen cupboard, lis- tening to the voices down the hall.

“I don’ know. P-prob’ly not.”

Sure you could, he thought. Sure you could!

Dooley had begun his summer internship at Hal’s clinic, and Sammy was working, shirtless, in the garden. On the hottest, most humid day they’d had so far, he took Sissie for a lengthy and circuitous trek—out to the chicken house, down to the pond, up to the hay loft, and around by the cow pasture.

He’d been instructed to exhaust as much of her energy as possible, to prevent a repeat of last night’s session. Unable to sleep, Sissie had climbed into their bed and talked a mile a minute until ten o’clock.

“It’s sugar,” Cynthia had announced at breakfast. “We can’t give her anything sweet today. Fruit only.”

“Raisins!” he said, being helpful. “Apples!”

“Silly me to show her where the cookie jar was. I’ve put it on top of the cabinet.”

“Better hide the step stool,” he cautioned.

After Lily’s lunch, which utilized a considerable amount of Sammy’s lettuce and peas, he announced nap time. Surely after a late bedtime and early rising, their young charge would sleep like a log ...

As Sissie curled beneath an afghan on the library sofa, he scribbled in his quote journal.

If the trials of many years were gathered into one,
he penned from an old book found on Marge’s shelf,
they would overwhelm us; therefore, in pity to our little strength, He sends first one, and then an- other, then removes both, and lays on a third, heavier, perhaps, than either; but all is so wisely measured to our strength that the bruised reed is never broken. We do not enough look at our trials in this continuous and successive view. Each one is sent to teach us something, and altogether they have a lesson which is beyond the power of any to teach alone. H. E. Manning.

He reread what he’d written. Wisely mea- sured to our strength ... amen and amen, Brother Manning, whoever you were ...

His eyelids were drooping. He propped his head in his hands for a moment, then moved to the wing chair and thumped into it. A light breeze stirred through the open window. Bliss.

Sissie popped up from the pillow, looking urgent.

“How does Jesus git in us?”

“We ask Him in. When we do that, He comes and lives in our hearts.”

She put her hand over her heart, furrowed her brow, and listened intently.

“What does ’e do in there all day?”

He heard the front screen door slap, and Dooley’s footsteps along the hall to the library.

“Hey,” said Dooley, going to the bookcase.

“Hey, yourself.”

Dooley shook his head, disbelieving. “Unbelievable!”

“Blake?”

“You got it.”

“Now what?”

“Bo’s been having trouble with her neck; I noticed she can’t bend it. Plus she hasn’t been eating much, or moving around a lot.”

“I thought it was probably the heat.”

“No. She’s in pain; I can feel the muscle spasms in her neck. And she’s starting to drag her right hind foot. I’m sure she has a ruptured disk.” Dooley located a book, took it down, and paged through it.

“What needs to be done?”

“Blake wants to call in a vet who does back and neck surgeries. Nobody around here does that anymore, we’d have to take her to Johnson City.”

“Do you agree with Blake’s idea?”

“No way. There’s only a sixty-percent chance that surgery will work, and if it doesn’t, she could need repeated surgeries.”

“What are the options?”

“I think we should try acupuncture.”

“Acupuncture? Isn’t that kind of... out there?”

“Lots of vets are using acupuncture to manage pain. Along with that, we need to give her time; sometimes these things take care of themselves. Then, if that doesn’t work, opiate drugs and steroids. Surgery would be a last resort.”

In Hal’s absence, Blake was definitely the boss. “Has Blake made up his mind?”

“He’s going to call Hal and see what Hal says. But Hal will side with Blake.”

“You’re sure?”

“They think alike.”

Dooley turned to Father Tim, looking fierce. “Blake is an arrogant, self-serving pain in the butt.”

And you have to work with him all summer, thought Father Tim.
Lord
,
thanks in advance for wisely measuring this to his strength.

With Sissie in tow, he made a run to visit Dovey, wheeling first into Lew Boyd’s.

“Miss Sadie’s car is going down to Charleston to be restored,” he told Harley. “Could we comb over it again tomorrow?”

“What time would that be?”

“You tell me.”

“Aroun’ four I could do it. I got a awful job of work on Miz Mallory’s Lincoln. Ed Coffey’s bringin’ it in at ten o’clock. They ain’t kep’ ’at car up like they should.”

“I’ll be here at four.” Ed Coffey. Maybe he could learn Edith’s latest prognosis.

“By the way, Harley ...”

“Yes, sir?”

“If Cynthia and I had to raise another boy, could I count on you to help us out?”

Harley’s toothless grin was wrapping around to the back of his head. “You c’n count on me f’r anything, Rev’ren’.”

Frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to raise another boy; he didn’t know if he could summon the strength. Even his indefatigable wife, though willing, had seemed daunted by the prospect. But what else was there to do?

At the sight of her mother, Sissie burst into tears and climbed onto the hospital bed, bawling. “When are we goin’ home, Mama?”

“Soon, honey. Soon. Please don’ cry.” She smoothed the hair from Sissie’s forehead. “Looky yonder, Donny brought m’ plate an’ cup an’ all. Ain‘t’ that nice? They won’t let me use it, but I c’n look at it when I pray f’r Mamaw Ruby.”

Father Tim took Dovey’s hand. “Feeling stronger?”

“Maybe a little bit. I got up an’ walked around th’ room this mornin’.”

Nurse Herman squished into One Fourteen on her lug-sole shoes.

“Mrs. Gleason, may I borrow your pitcher a minute?”

“Yes, ma’am, but please pick it up easy; th’ handle’s been broke off.”

“
Two times
,” said Sissie, “but hit was pasted back.”

Nurse Herman drew Father Tim into the hall, closed the door behind her, and held forth the pitcher.

“Here’s your culprit,” she said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Bingo

He stopped by Dora Pugh’s for a mask, picking up an extra for Harley. The last time he rooted around in the Plymouth, the dust caused his sinuses to drain like spigots.

“Operatin’ on somebody?” asked Dora.

“Operating on a car, actually.”

“Takin’ out th’ drive shaft, I reckon.”

Their hardware store owner was never at a loss for words.

“If we have to,” he said, counting the correct change.

“Have you heard th’ one about ...”

“Next time!” He struck out for the door with his brown bag.

“... th’ fella who fell in a lens-grindin’ machine an’ made a spectacle of hisself?”

No rest for the wicked, he thought, charging up Main Street to the truck.

He saw a small gathering in front of Sweet Stuff. A good reminder! Cynthia had been craving Winnie’s fig bars, which were, all things considered, relatively low cal. His wife would demolish a couple in no time flat.

He crossed Wisteria Lane, noting that the crowd appeared to be gathered around ...

His heart hammered.

... around Edith Mallory ...

... in her wheelchair.

As he approached, the Collar Button man was bending toward Edith, as if to hear what she was saying.

“Right, right.” Appearing uncomfortable, he fled next door to his own shop.

Mitford’s fire chief, Hamp Floyd, exited Sweet Stuff with a cake box, the bell jingling above the door.

“Miz Mallory! I declare!” Last September, Hamp Floyd had pulled out all the stops to save Edith’s mansion on the ridge, but it had burned to the ground in spite of his effort.

Hamp leaned closer to Edith. “He is, ma’am, He certainly is!”

Winnie Ivey peered through the glass door of her shop to see what was going on, then came out to greet the woman who had tried without success to buy Sweet Stuff for a third of its value.

“Miz
Mall’ry
! Glad to see you on th’
street
again!”

Winnie extended her hand, and Edith took it. Father Tim was standing behind Edith and couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it made Winnie smile. “Yes, ma’am,” said Winnie. “Oh, yes,
ma’am
.”

Ed Coffey stood patiently at the handlebars of the chair, gazing around the small gathering. He caught Father Tim’s eye.

Father Tim had known Ed Coffey through some tough times; things had never been easy between them. He was surprised, and even moved, by the look in Ed’s eyes—there was no anger or defiance as before, but a warmth he’d never seen. Ed nodded and gestured for him to step closer.

“Look here, Miz Mallory. It’s Father Tim.”

Ed eased the chair around.

Father Tim was struck by the frailty of his old and bitter nemesis; always a petite woman, she now appeared shriveled, even childlike. Yet her face was radiant.

“Tim ... o ... thy ...” She scarcely spoke above a whisper.

“Edith.”

“For ... give ... me.”

“I did that long ago.”

“God ... is ... good.”

“Yes. Very good.” He squatted beside the chair and took her hand and held it. Tears streamed, uncontrolled, down his cheeks.

“Thank ... you.”

“Thank you, Edith, for your witness. And thank God for His faithfulness.”