Light From Heaven (64 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: Light From Heaven
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She managed a smile from the left corner of her lips. “God ... is ... good,” she said again. The large eyes, which had always alarmed him, shone with new light.
He watched Ed and Edith pass up the street, stopping to talk with everyone they met. It was some minutes before he realized his knees were weak and shaking, as if a terrible storm had passed and the sun had come forth at last.
He walked into the garden between Sweet Stuff and the Collar Button and sat on the bench, the brown paper bag in hand.
Bill Sprouse sat beside him with his dog, Buddy, on a leash. “A miracle, brother.”
“It is.”
“Lord bless ’er, she’s puttin’ the gospel truth into three little words. Tellin’ everybody she sees”.
Father Tim mopped his eyes with his handkerchief. The tears wouldn’t stop; a dark weight, long carried, had been lifted.
“I know y’all went at it a time or two.”
“More than a time or two.”
“Old Scratch in a dress is what some called her. I love it when God reaches out and yanks up one of His bad young ’uns and holds ’em in His arms!”
“Like He did me,” said the vicar, blowing his nose.
 
 
“Like He did me,” said the preacher from First Baptist.
He and Harley pulled on their masks.
Andrew stood by, dressed to the nines in a cashmere jacket. Buttoned, noted the vicar. Still carrying a wooden spoon, Tony had taken a break from the Lucera kitchen, and thumped down on an ancient garden bench by the garage.
“What do you think, Harley?”
“Right off, let’s git th’ doors open an’ let some air circ’late in there.”
Andrew opened the rear left door; Tony opened the rear right door; he and Harley worked the front doors.
“Teamwork!” said Father Tim.
Harley stuck his head inside. “Been a mouse in here, looks like. An’ I heerd snakes’ll sometimes crawl up in a ol’ car.”
“Whoa, buddy; don’t go there.”
Tony brandished his spoon. “I’ll take care of snake.”
Father Tim laughed. “Good! Tony takes care of the snake; Harley takes care of the mouse.”
“If a mouse jumps out, I’ll be haulin’ over th’ county line. I never liked nothin’ in th’ rodent fam’ly.” Harley got in, cautious, and sat in the passenger seat.
“Louella said Miss Sadie was handy with her toolbox. I can’t imagine Miss Sadie han- dling a wrench or a drill. But maybe a screwdriver ...” He sat on the backseat, eyeing the surroundings, trying to see things with a fresh eye.
“Top t’ bottom is what you tol’ me,” said Harley. “So here we go ag’in.” Harley poked the felt roof liner; dust baptized the interior.
When all was said and done, he still didn’t know whether to take Louella’s story seriously. Louella certainly believed it; but was it, perhaps, some fragment of an old dream? He felt like a sweaty, overweight fool pulling such a caper in front of Andrew Gregory, who, as ever, looked trim, cool, and dashing.
“I been readin’ up on this deal,” said Harley. “She’s got it all—overdrive, power brakes, full-time power steerin’, you name it.” Harley continued to poke. “Prob’ly y’r worst problem’s goin’ t’ be y’r power steerin’, hit’ll need rebuildin’ ...”
Poke, poke; dust, dust.
“... an’ y’r fuel tank’ll mos’ likely need replacin’.”
“She’ll look good on the street again,” said Andrew. “Those tail fins will be a crowd pleaser.”
“
Bello!”
said Tony.
“Hit’ll be a jaw dropper, all right. Meantime, they ain’t nothin’ up here but roof an’ linin’. Same as b’fore.”
“What do you think about taking the door panels off?” asked Father Tim. “Looks like that could be done with a screwdriver.”
“Wouldn’ hurt.” Harley got in the backseat and began unscrewing the right rear door panel.
Nothing but door-panel entrails and more dust.
“What do you think? Should we take off all the door panels? And what about the dash?”
“Do dash,” said Tony, apparently having a delightful time. “Radio, clock, like that.” He waved his spoon for emphasis.
“If ’at little woman took out ’er radio, I’ll give y’ a brand-new five-dollar bill. We start messin’ around in th’ dash, we’ll be here ’til Christmas.”
Needing a breath of fresh air, Father Tim suddenly stood, cracking his head on the dome light. “Dadgummit!” He staggered out the door, his hand to his scalp. Just as he thought—blood.
“Man!”
he squawked, quoting Dooley.
“I’ll bring alcohol and a Band-Aid!” said Andrew, looking concerned.
“I’ll get!”Tony struck out for the house.
“Or would you rather come up to the kitchen, Father?”
“Oh, no, no. I’ll be fine.” He mopped his smarting cranium with a handkerchief. “Not a problem.”
“Tell you what...,” said Harley.
“What?”
“I’m goin’ t’ take a look in that dome light y’ jis’ nailed. Hit’s a whopper.”
Harley unscrewed the dome light and trained his flashlight into the cavity. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”
The men stooped down to peer in at Harley.
“You got bingo, Rev‘ren’.”
When he drove Harley back to Lew’s, J.C. was pumping gas into his beat-up SUV
J.C. threw up his hand, looking positively sunny. Father Tim eased the farm truck to the other side of the gas island.
“So. What’s going on?”
“Not too much.”
“What’s with the happy face? You look like the ice cream truck just stopped on your street.”
“You’re a meddlin’ fool,” said J.C.
“That’s what they say.”
“Have you heard th’one about ... ?”
“No, and don’t want to. I want to know what you know that I don’t know.”
J.C. cackled. “Maybe it’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“You’re playing hardball with me, buddyroe.”
“You get in my vehicle this time,” said J.C.
Father Tim parked in the rear of the station, and stroked around front to the SUV, which J.C. had rolled to the side of the grease pit. He hopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door.
“You’re not goin’ to believe it, anyway,” said the
Muse
editor.
“Try me.”
“Things are fixed with Adele. Have been for a couple of weeks, but didn’t see any reason to run tattlin’ to you; you ain’t my daddy.”
“What happened?”
“She arrested me.”
Father Tim whooped. “No kidding!”
“For ... let’s see, I got th’ papers right here.” J.C. ransacked his bulging briefcase.
“For being a cold-hearted, unemotional, self-indulgent, ah, hard-headed ...
jerk,
” he read. “Oh, an’ for jaywalkin’.”
“Man. Threw the book at you.”
“She busted me on Main Street; told me to get in the patrol car.”
“What a woman.”
“Drove me around. Read me the riot act.”
“Whoa.”
“You know what I said?”
“Not a clue.”
“I said, you’re right. And then I said ...”
“What?” He was pretty much on the edge of his seat.
“I said I was sorry.” J.C.’s face colored.
“Great! Good for you!” He suddenly remembered what he’d seen in Baxter Park; his unbounded delight turned sour.
J.C. grinned. “So ... that’s pretty much it.”
“No, it isn’t; there’s more. Spit it out.”
“Well, I mean, we like ... drove somewhere. And you know, parked.”
He’d take his chances. If the answer was no, he could cover things up.
“Under the tree in Baxter Park, by any chance?”
“How’d you know that?”
“I get around,” he said.
Hallelujah!
“So, what kind of time do you have to do?”
“Six months of take-out.”
“Take-out?”
“Take out th’ garbage, take ’er out to dinner, pick up take-out at th’ Ming Tree in Wesley ...”
“She could have given you a lifetime sentence. You got off easy.”
J.C. nodded, sober. “Real easy.”
“Think you’ll go straight after this?”
J.C. looked him in the eye. “With God’s help. That’s prob‘ly th’ only way.”
“Amen,” said the vicar, meaning it.
His adrenaline was pumping like an oil derrick as he came through the revolving door and along the carpeted hallway to Room Number One.
Louella was watering a gloxinia on her windowsill.
“Louella, Louella, Louella!” He threw up his arms as if delivering a speech from a balcony. “I have good news!”
She set the watering can down with a thump. “You foun’ Miss Sadie’s money!”
“Bingo!”
“
Thank
You, Jesus! Thank You,
Jesus
! An’ thank Miss Sadie, I bet she put th’ hidin’ place in yo’ head.”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said.
Hoppy ran his hand through his unruly hair.
“So there it was all the time. She was eating and drinking her own demise. As you know, Nurse Herman is the one who caught it.”
Father Tim shook the hand of Mitford Hospital’s director of nursing. “Very well done!”
“Like I said yesterday, I wouldn’t know old dishes from pea turkey if my cousin hadn’t been so sick with lead poisonin’. It was the same thing—she always ate and drank out of old transfer ware her grandma gave her in high school. She was treated for chronic fatigue syndrome for ten years before they figured it out!”
“I never thought about china containing lead,” said the vicar.
“The worst amounts are mostly in stuff made before the seventies. Plus, my cousin
and
Miss Gleason really did a number on themselves-they used the dishes to microwave food!”
“Microwaving leaches out dangerous lead levels,” said Hoppy. “And chips and cracks can be really lethal.”
“Do they still have to get out of the trailer?”
“That’s up to the state health crowd,” said Hoppy. “They’ll probably check the plumbing first thing—if there’s a problem, it could be as simple as the hot-water cylinder. It contains a very high level of lead solder, which can deteriorate and turn to sludge. Pure poison. »

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