Suncatchers (59 page)

“Oliver said his wife helped him with it some,” she had said. “Fact is, Neville Greer says he wouldn't be surprised if Oliver's wife didn't do the
whole thing
by herself, 'cause he heard Oliver's next-door neighbor—that woman named Pauletta who makes all them different little animals out of old spark plugs—say she sees LaVerne Peake trottin' back and forth all day long between the house and the wood shop they got in their garage, but she hardly ever sees Oliver step outside of the house. But it sure doesn't make a lick of difference to
me
who made it—but I think it's real sweet of LaVerne if that's true to let Oliver take all the credit for it. I'll swanee if it's not the most . . .” She drew her thick eyebrows together as she cast about for the right word, as if visualizing the columns of words in her vocabulary book. “ . . . the most
meritorious
cabinet I ever did see!” she finished, smiling triumphantly.

She had gone on then to describe it in great detail, and as they pulled into the church parking lot, she had said, “When Oliver and his son brought it in and set it down, I thought my eyes was playing tricks on me, 'cause I looked at it and just all of a sudden saw as clear as day every one of Jewel's jars of blueberry jam and apple jelly and applesauce and peach preserves setting on them shelves in straight rows, with all the different colors just sparkling like glass. I rubbed my eyes, I'll tell you what, and wondered if that was what folks meant when they talked about having a vision. But then I looked again—and them shelves was plum' empty.”

All four of them had gotten out of the car and walked across the parking lot of the church in silence. As they started up the front steps, Eldeen said, “Yes, sir, if I had me a hundred dollars, I'd buy that jelly cabinet in a minute! What a pretty sight it would be settin' in our kitchen filled up with all Jewel's hard work.” She beamed at the thought of it.

“You always help me, Mama,” Jewel said, smiling. “It's not just
my
hard work.”

Eldeen snorted and dismissed Jewel's remark. “Oh, piffle. What I do is just child's play next to what you do.”

“Well, stop thinking about that cabinet,” Jewel said. “There's lots more things we could use worse than that.”

“Well, it sure would give me pleasure,” Eldeen had said, sighing. “But then, I can think of other things that would make me gladder.” They were at the front door by that time, and as Perry held it open, Eldeen passed through, casting him an inscrutable look. Her countenance had darkened, hiding her smile, like a cloud concealing the sun.

As Eldeen had left the auditorium later on her way to the Peewee Powwow meeting, she had said aloud, “I have a unspoken prayer request I'd be obliged for all of you to remember during prayer time tonight.”

And, Perry recalled now, every single person who had stood to lead in prayer that night had faithfully requested a favorable and timely answer to Eldeen's “unspoken.”

As he ran his fingers over the smooth wood and tested the little door latch, Perry heard Hollister Abrams behind him. “Now that's a fine piece of workmanship there. You got you a real eye for quality.”

“I'd like to buy it,” Perry said, turning around.

Hollister's little eyes glistened. “Just like that? You already made up your mind?” Again he grasped Perry's shoulder. “Son, I like you!” He threw his head back and laughed. It was at that very moment, warmed by Hollister's sunny laugh, that Perry realized this man would be about the age of his own father had he lived. What would it have been like, he wondered, to grow up with a man like Hollister Abrams as his father? What kind of man would he himself be today if he had heard those words over and over as a child, a teenager, an adult—“Son, I like you”? What would it have been like to live in a house of laughter, a house where pats on the shoulder were an everyday occurrence, where people looked into each other's eyes?

“I can't take it now, though,” Perry said. “Can you put a ‘Sold' tag on it and trust me to come back tomorrow? I'll pay for it today, but I need to borrow a bigger car to get it home.”

“No problem. No problem at all,” Hollister said. His smile suddenly faded, and he stroked his chin with the hand that was missing two fingers. “I just thought of somebody who's going to be mighty disappointed to see this cabinet sold, though.” Perry said nothing, and Hollister clucked his tongue regretfully. “She's been telling everybody here at the store for weeks that she's praying for a miracle so she can buy it for her daughter.”

“Well, I don't hold much stock in miracles,” Perry said.

Hollister cocked his head and once again looked full into Perry's face. His eyes had lost their twinkle. They looked almost fierce. “Son, when you've lived as long as I have and found yourself staring eyeball to eyeball at a Japanese soldier whose main goal was to blow your remains off the face of the earth and you end up telling about it fifty years later—well, then you don't have any trouble at all believing in miracles. It would be as easy as wiggling your nose for the Lord to work it out so that this lady I know could get this cabinet instead of you—if He had a mind to.”

Perry stared at Hollister in disbelief. He'd never seen this man at the Church of the Open Door. These Christians seemed to be climbing out of the woodwork lately. Just last week he had been approached in the parking lot of Thrifty-Mart by a young man he'd never seen, who asked Perry if he would read a tract and think about what it said. Did Hollister really hold to all that stuff Brother Hawthorne kept referring to as the “fundamentals of the faith”? Did he believe in all that metaphysical speculation about the Trinity and the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection? In the few minutes since he had entered the G.O.O.D. Country Store, Perry was convinced that Hollister Abrams was the kind of man who would latch onto something and not let go, but could it really be that he was a Christian—a “sold-out believer,” as Eldeen liked to put it? Or was he maybe just on the fringes—somebody who liked to talk about the all-present spirit of divinity in humankind? Somebody who liked the security of considering himself “religious” and talked about “the Lord” as if he were a philanthropic old uncle, but who really didn't carry it as far as the folks at the Church of the Open Door?

Hollister's eyes softened and he smiled. “Sorry, that's one of my pet subjects. They've told us not to preach to people on the job, though, so I'll shut my mouth.”

“No, please, I'd like to ask you something,” Perry said, glancing around the store. The two women were looking at a lamp made out of what looked like an old blowtorch, and the little boy was playing with a beanbag game. “Let's just say,” he said, “that I wanted to buy this cabinet to give to this same woman you're talking about—let's say her name was something different, like . . . oh, how about
Eldeen
?” Hollister raised his scraggly eyebrows. “Let's say I'd heard her going on and on about it,” Perry continued, “and I decided I'd like to buy it for her. So I come down here and spend my own money for it because I want to make her happy. I got the money in the normal way, by working for it. It didn't drop down out of the sky with a note attached that said ‘From God, for purchase of jelly cabinet for Eldeen.' So I buy the cabinet and then take it to her house and surprise her with it for Christmas. Now here's my question. Is
that
a miracle?”

Without a second of hesitation, Hollister boldly answered, “Yes.”

“How?” Perry asked.

Hollister pointed at Perry. “God is using
you
as his instrument. Let me ask you something, son. Is Eldeen a relative of yours?”

“No.” Perry shook his head.

“Well, it wouldn't change a thing if she was, but anyway, is she an old friend of the family maybe?”

“No.” What was the man getting at?

“That doesn't matter either, but it makes it better this way. Are you in her debt for some reason? Do you owe her some kind of favor for something she did for you?”

“Well, no, I wouldn't say that.”

“So is this something you do a lot of—buying jelly cabinets for old ladies?” Hollister seemed to be standing closer than before, although Perry hadn't noticed him taking a step forward.

Perry started to see where this was headed and knew there was no way to avert it. “No,” he said. Somehow his interest in arguing the point had dissolved.

“So how do you explain what you're doing, son?” Hollister asked gently. “Don't you see? God has put it in your heart to do this nice thing, and that's as much a miracle in my book as if he reached down from heaven and picked it up and plunked it down in Eldeen's house.”

Perry nodded. “I thought that's what you'd say.”

“Well, it's the truth,” Hollister said. “You think about it, and your heart will tell you it's the absolute truth.”

The rain had grown heavier and was drumming on the roof. Perry looked out the window. Cars crawled by on Lambert Street, their headlights glowing weakly.

“I'll go get a tag to let people know it's already sold,” said Hollister. “I'll be right back.”

Perry moved over to the
G.O.O.D. Country Stitchin'
section. He walked slowly, taking note of everything from quilts, potholders, and dish towels to embroidered handkerchiefs, puppets, aprons, and little crocheted dolls that served as toilet tissue covers. On a small table next to a rack of little girls' smocked dresses were displayed sets of pillowcases. He picked up a set stitched with green lambs on a mustard gold hillside. There were two more sets like it, one with gray lambs and the other with navy blue. Compared to the stitching on the other sets of pillowcases, Eldeen's wasn't nearly as skilled. Even Perry could tell that. But hers had an appeal he couldn't think of words to express. They reminded him of Dinah's description of a little girl they'd seen in a restaurant once. “She's so ugly she's cute,” she had said, and it was true.

“I bet I know what you're thinking,” Hollister said, coming up to stand beside him again.

“What?” said Perry.

“Well, it's like this,” Hollister said, picking up another set neatly and beautifully embroidered with trellised roses. He held them out at arm's length, then looked back and forth from the lambs to the roses. “Somebody fancy and stuffy without much imagination would pick this one,” he said, nodding toward the roses, “but anybody that likes little kids and balloons and crayons and crackers and buttermilk and comfortable old shoes would pick Eldeen's.”

Perry smiled and looked up at Hollister briefly. “Do you have any children?” he asked.

“A boy and a girl,” Hollister said, his gold tooth gleaming. “And five grandkids.” Perry imagined him at one time leading his children to a park swing, holding their small hands in his. What would it matter to a son if his father's hand had only three fingers—if that hand belonged to a man like Hollister?

“I think I'll buy all three pairs,” Perry said, reaching for the other two sets of Eldeen's pillowcases. Good grief, he needed to get out of this place before he turned maudlin. If he didn't watch it, he'd be brushing tears out of his eyes and calling Hollister Abrams “Dad.”

“Eldeen's are all cotton, you know,” Hollister said. “Most of the others are only part cotton.”

“I know,” said Perry. “I've got one set already but can always use more.” Maybe he'd even send a set to Dinah someday. He turned toward the cash register, then lowering his voice, he addressed Hollister again. “I'd rather not . . . you know . . .”

“I understand perfectly,” Hollister said. “I won't say a word to anybody. It wouldn't do for the surprise to get spoiled.”

As Perry approached the cash register, Charlotte Dalby rose from her chair and set her crocheting down. “Eldeen sure will be sorry her chest got sold,” she said sorrowfully to Hollister, who was removing the tags from the pillowcases. Perry reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Why, look at this,” said Charlotte. “Isn't that a funny thing? He's buying the chest Eldeen wanted so bad
and
three sets of her pillowslips, too. She'll be glad for the one but sure not for the other.”

Hollister winked at Perry. “Well, that's the way it goes,” he said. “First come, first served.”

Perry counted out seven twenty-dollar bills. Charlotte took the money and slowly recounted it, turning all the bills to face the same direction.

On the wall next to the cash register, Perry saw a large gaudy picture of a parrot. As he looked closer, he saw that it was actually a mosaic made of various colors of Styrofoam pieces.

Hollister chuckled. “That ranks right up there with bullfighters painted on black velvet, doesn't it?” An eerie feeling crept over Perry. Hadn't the exact thought been in the process of forming in his own mind? Or was it only that Hollister's comment had once again struck a responsive chord?

Charlotte looked at Hollister quizzically. “What are you talking about, bullfighters and black velvet?” she said. Perry held out his hand, and she began counting out his change.

“Oh, nothing,” Hollister said cheerfully, picking up the sack of pillowcases. “Sometimes I say things that don't make the least bit of sense.” He walked with Perry over to the door and opened it. The bell jangled noisily. Handing him the sack, Hollister said, “Here, son, let me walk you out to your car,” and he reached for a large striped umbrella beside the door.

Down the sidewalk they walked together under the big striped umbrella, “dry as toast,” as Eldeen would say. Perry felt Hollister's warm hand resting lightly on his back.

38

The Pale Glow of Sunrise

It was Eldeen's poem, which Perry ran across again on Friday morning, that was the catalyst for the most courageous act of his life. He knew it was the poem that started everything. He had no delusions afterward that he had thought up the idea on his own.