by Bill Higgs
Virgil awakened the next morning about nine o’clock after a good night’s sleep. He found his left arm in a sling and something wrapped tightly around his chest, nothing on his face but a couple of bandages. The nurse came in to take the oxygen mask off and told him that the doctor had checked him at about six o’clock when he made rounds. The doctor had been very pleased with his progress and was willing to let him go home at eleven o’clock after one final check.
He was still sleepy—probably some medicine they had given him. There were several voices in the room, and he could make out Mavine and . . . Welby? It took several blinks until his eyes and thoughts cleared.
“Mavine?”
“Good morning, Virgil.” She bent over and kissed his head. “I love you.”
“And I love you too. Who’s with you—Welby? Alma?”
“We’re right here, Virgil!”
“But who’s watching Osgood’s? It’s Tuesday—no, Wednesday—and we’re supposed to be open. It’s usually our busiest day . . .”
“Not to worry, Virgil,” Welby chuckled. “Mr. Alexander is taking care of your customers for you. Charlie’s handling things on his side of the street. It sounds like we missed a lot of excitement while we were gone.”
Virgil tried to nod, but it hurt too much.
“He said it’s the least he could do for you. And he sent you this.” He handed Virgil a card, sealed in a small envelope.
Virgil took the reading glasses that Mavine had brought, propped them on his nose with some effort and pain, and opened the card. It still carried the Zipco logo, which Cornelius had scratched out and written over it Alexander’s. Virgil read it aloud:
So sorry for your accident! Hope you get well soon. And thank you for letting us stay in Vee Junior’s bedroom until we can replace the mobile home. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.
Your friends and neighbors,
Cornelius and JoAnn
Friends. He smiled and closed the card. “I guess everything works out, doesn’t it?”
Welby nodded. “Just be glad it was the Nash instead of the Buick!”
Virgil started to laugh, but it hurt too much. “I’m glad, indeed.”
There was a knock on the door, and a nurse appeared with a wheelchair and instructions from the doctor. “Take the rest of the week off. No heavy lifting. Take this pill twice a day, as needed for pain.” She handed the prescription to Mavine. “And don’t ever work alone under a jacked-up car!”
Virgil agreed, signed the release form, and was a free man. In more ways than one.
REVEREND CAUDILL had come over to make a pastoral call and now sat enjoying a wonderful lunch, courtesy of Mavine, who had heated up the pork chops and green beans and made fresh biscuits to go with them. Virgil was still drowsy and sore, but was in good spirits and hoped to be in church on Sunday, and back to work—at least to pump gas with his right arm—by the next Monday.
Vee came rushing downstairs, excited and breathless. “Mom, look outside.”
Mavine and Reverend Caudill followed Vee to the front windows and saw a van painted with a large NBC logo. What on earth was channel three doing in front of Osgood’s?
The doorbell rang, and Vee jumped toward the front door. “Are we gonna be on TV?”
“Vee, we’re certainly not,” Mavine called, halting the boy in his tracks. “Reverend Caudill, would you be willing to talk to the reporter? It hurts too much for Virgil to talk, and I’m terrified of being on TV.”
Vee’s shoulders slumped. Obviously the boy would have been more than willing to speak for the whole family. But Reverend Caudill agreed to be the spokesman. Besides, he would be able to tell the whole story. The real story.
He stepped outside with the reporter, a young man with immaculate hair and a large microphone. Another man carrying a large film camera followed, his eye glued to the viewfinder. The pastor straightened his tie.
“Can you tell us what happened when Mr. Osgood was pinned by the car?” the reporter asked, his microphone thrust into the pastor’s face.
“Virgil T. Osgood is one of my parishioners, and I have to tell you he’s a fine man. One of the best. He runs Osgood’s—” he pointed—“a fine business and an asset to our community. He was working by himself when a car fell off the jacks, and his beloved wife, Mavine, found him in his predicament and did the impossible: lifted the car off Virgil’s chest.”
“Just like that?”
“Not exactly. She had the Lord’s help.”
“Thank you . . .”
“And there’s more. There are other good neighbors in Eden Hill who pitched in to help out in his time of need. Like Cornelius Alexander—” he pointed to Alexander’s—“who ran his business for him while he was in the hospital.”
The reporter thanked him again, and the cameraman filmed both Osgood’s and Alexander’s, including the Nash that still sat askew in the service bay at Osgood’s. They left with footage for the evening news, after Welby had cleaned their windows and checked their oil.
The reverend would have stayed longer, but he had to meet with the lawyer in town for the reading of Madeline Crutcher’s will. The directions were clear; the meeting would take place in the attorney’s office on Market Street.
He was the last to arrive: Del Crutcher and his wife were already there, as were Del’s sister Virginia, another attorney representing Del’s sister Carolina, and Jeremiah Taggart. Two people from the courthouse were also present to serve as witnesses. Pleasantries were exchanged all around.
The lawyer started right in. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin.” He held a short but impressive-looking document. “Part the First. I, Madeline W. Crutcher, being of sound mind . . .”
Reverend Caudill suppressed a smile. He was open to debate about that.
“. . . do hereby bequeath, and so order the disposition of my estate upon my demise—” the entire group leaned forward in rapt attention—“the whole of my properties to be sold at public auction.”
They’d already done that. The anticipation was mounting. Reverend Caudill wondered why he was here. Might he have to make peace if things turned ugly? He’d done enough of that already in the past month.
The lawyer turned to the second page and looked up. “I will interject here that the proceeds from the auction and the liquidation of her financial assets resulted in an estate of two hundred sixteen thousand, one hundred forty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
Even Del’s eyes widened.
The reader continued, “Twenty-five percent of my estate I bequeath to my son, Delbert Crutcher.” Del sat up straight in his chair, receiving a hug from his wife.
The lawyer continued, “Ten percent of the estate I bequeath to my daughter Virginia Crutcher Cousins.”
Virginia smiled and began doing some figures on a notepad.
“Ten percent of the estate I bequeath to my daughter Carolina Crutcher Wilson.”
The other attorney smiled and made some notes of his own.
He continued. “Five percent of my estate I leave to my illegitimate son, Jeremiah Ezekiel Taggart.” The attorney paused and looked at the group over the top of his bifocals. “For the record, those were her exact words.”
Brother Taggart looked stunned but threw his hands into the air and shouted, “Praise the Lord for his mercies! He has provided.”
Reverend Caudill smiled. That ought to cover the old funeral home. He looked at his notes, where he’d been keeping a tally. This still left . . .
The designated reader took a drink from a glass of water. “The remainder of my estate I bequeath to the First Evangelical Baptist Church of Eden Hill, in honor of the Reverend Eugene Caudill, who has been an inspiration and ready help to me in my time of greatest need. So attested and executed this day, Friday the third of May, nineteen hundred sixty-three.”
Well. Reverend Caudill couldn’t speak, offer pastoral care, bless, or do much of anything else. He simply sat there, incredulous. Fifty pe
rcent of her estate, if he’d heard it right. And the amount? Something over one hundred thousand dollars? It would mean a new roof, replacement gutters, a well-behaved furnace, Sunday school rooms, missions. Those things and more. Even some help for his brothers and sisters in their purchase of the new Pentecostal Holiness church.
“Congratulations, Pastor!” Del was patting his shoulder and shaking his hand.
He looked around. Virginia and the other attorney had already gone, and Brother Taggart was rocking back and forth in his chair, continuing his praise to the Almighty.
The lawyer agreed to contact him for additional details regarding the transaction, and he as counsel and Del as executor would receive a nominal percentage, he’d said. It was still too much to fathom, but he was more than willing to try.
The drive back to Eden Hill was glorious. Even with the rain, the sky seemed brighter somehow, and some other things were much clearer as he returned to his office.
Madeline Crutcher, in death, had affirmed his ministry. What kind of woman was Madeline Crutcher? Even after all these years, he had to admit, to his own shame and regret, he didn’t know. But her bequest was one final act of goodness that would pave the way for many good things in their community.
MAVINE’S SUNDAY MORNING breakfast was special. Not only was she feeding her own family these days; she was preparing for the Alexanders as well. And it was going to be a special day—for all of them. She’d set up a card table in the living room, and Reverend Caudill had brought a couple of chairs from his office for them to use.
They’d all left for Sunday school at 9:45. Virgil was unable to wear his sport coat with his arm in a sling, but otherwise he looked quite presentable. Vee had been given a stern admonition to behave in Mrs. Prewitt’s Sunday school class. No jokes, and no comic books.
And the Alexanders looked quite sharp in their secondhand clothes. Grover was waiting for them at the door, ready to take Suzy to the nursery.
Mavine walked into worship with Virgil at her side, holding his free hand. He was still too sore to usher anybody anywhere, but Welby helped them to their usual seat.
She felt a tingling of excitement. Cornelius and JoAnn Alexander professing their faith and being baptized into the church, the body of Christ. Her friends and neighbors, about to become her sister and brother.
Toler’s opening hymn, “Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise,” set the pattern for the morning. The man’s tempos had become more upbeat of late, and it lifted her spirits and those of all in the church.
When Reverend Caudill came out in his waders, and the Alexanders in their white robes, it was all she could do to hold it together. And when they each went under the water three times, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, she wept tears of great joy. Almost as though she had been baptized again herself. She cried on Virgil’s one good shoulder and hugged his one good arm.
And she felt within her a most unique thing. Forgiveness. Grace, far greater than any of them deserved.
It had been a glorious Sunday. Two baptisms. Something had happened to Mavine and Virgil too. He’d seen it in their eyes. Truly glorious.
Reverend Caudill didn’t often spend Sunday afternoon in his office, but after dinner with the Osgoods and the Alexanders, he’d retired to this familiar place.
He’d begun a sermon on “inner strength” while the doctor’s words were still fresh in his mind. Funny how those things stuck, especially when facing difficult life decisions.
He sighed and turned away from the old Underwood. The message hadn’t gotten far; the paper was still blank. No matter; it would need adjusting anyway. Opening the desk drawer, he brushed past the headache powder, which for once he didn’t need, and located the envelope, which he did. An ordinary number ten business envelope, yet it held something that would change his life.
He extracted the letter from the dean of the Evangelical Baptist Bible College and read it for the umpteenth time. Would Reverend Eugene Caudill consider joining the college in the autumn quarter as professor of pastoral ministries?
It was the president’s second letter. Reverend Caudill had put off the decision as long as possible, but he’d promised to pray about it and give the school an answer by next week. He had indeed prayed. Over and over. And now it was time to reply.
He’d talked it over with Grover and Anna Belle, his closest friends and counselors, and they had told him to do whatever was best. The right thing. Until today, leaving Eden Hill was not the right thing. Eden Hill had needed him. But good things were now under way.
He could take no credit; he’d simply done his duty. The next pastor would serve a steady congregation with financial security. His sheep were more docile now, and relationships were healing and becoming stronger. He could leave with a clear conscience.
And with confidence in his ministry. That confidence had wavered but now was solid.
He placed two fresh sheets of paper in the old Underwood with a carbon between and began to type. “Dear Sirs, I am humbled and privileged to accept . . .”
After typing the envelope and sealing the letter, he began a second. “Dear Congregation . . .”
This one was harder to sign and seal. He’d keep the copy and give the sealed envelope to the church’s board and read it to the congregation on Sunday. But he hesitated for only a moment; somewhere inside of him he found the strength. Maybe it was adrenaline, or just maybe it was divine leading. He sighed. He’d miss this place, and these people. But he knew it was right.
It had been a good sixteen years. And Eden Hill was in better shape than he’d found it. His work here was done. Virgil and Mavine would be just fine. Cornelius and JoAnn would do well; they’d find their strength too. Suzy would grow up in the church, where she’d be surrounded by love.
Well. He glanced at the portrait of him and Louise, shedding a small and unexpected tear this time. But it was for joy. He was finished here but would move on in his high calling. Eden Hill was in God’s hands. And so was he.
Discussion Questions
What are some of the major challenges Virgil faces throughout the novel? How do his responses differ in the various spheres of his life: home, church, work? Does he demonstrate consistent integrity throughout, or do these spheres bring out different aspects of his character? Do you respond consistently at home, church, work, etc.?
How would you describe Virgil and Mavine’s relationship? What could improve their marriage?
As the story begins, Cornelius is driven to become a successful businessman. Why does he feel so much pressure to succeed? How does his motivation change? How do you define success?
Reverend Caudill feels responsible for the well-being of the whole town. Should pastors take on this kind of responsibility? How far should pastors and ministers go to care for their flocks? Are there boundaries beyond which they should not meddle?
Madeline Crutcher is a self-appointed morality monitor. She feels the need to point out all that is wrong with her church and her society and try to effect changes. In what ways is this an admirable course of action? How can a person today be an agent of change without becoming pharisaical and judgmental?
What different parenting styles do you see portrayed in the novel among the Osgoods, the Alexanders, and the Prewitts? Which of your friends or acquaintances model excellent parenting?
Gladys eventually contacts and meets her long-lost daughter. How does this event change Mavine’s perspective on herself? Was this a satisfying conclusion to Gladys’s story? What challenges do she and her daughter face down the road?
In the early 1960s, race relations in the US were rising to a fever pitch. Among the responses of Eden Hill residents, did any surprise you? What progress has our society made in this issue? What do we still have left to do to ensure that all people live with justice and equality?
When Virgil feels the pinch of competition, Welby’s business advice to Virgil is counterintuitive: love your neighbor. From the very beginning, Welby believes there’s enou
gh business to go around. Why are people so prone to face off and fight for themselves? Are there times when it’s necessary to choose competition over collaboration? When have you felt the urge to compete for position or resources? How well did you respond in that situation?
Cornelius and JoAnn married under less-than-ideal circumstances. What do you think about their commitment to each other? Was it right for them to marry in the first place? How do you see God’s redemption at work in their story?
Were you surprised by Reverend Caudill’s decision at the end of the novel? Why do you think he took the opportunity offered to him?
Based on what you know of the era, how was life different in the 1960s? Have people (or human nature) changed much over the past fifty years? Has the country changed? What advances have we made? Where have we faltered?
Acknowledgments
AS THE SON of an English teacher extraordinaire and a master storyteller, I suppose it was inevitable that I would tell stories in written form. It was my lot in life.
My mother, the late Mary Lee Higgs, drilled into me sentences and paragraphs, grammar and structure—and no small amount of grammar. Had she lived to see this novel’s publication, I think she might have been pleased that I used adverbs correctly!
My father, Harold Higgs, relishes a good story, either in the hearing or the telling. His tales include red lanterns hanging on a box kite, biplanes flying under bridges, and exploding jugs of elderberry wine.
Many thanks to Julie Gwinn and my son, Matthew Higgs, who read the manuscript and offered many valuable suggestions. Grateful appreciation, too, to Blythe Daniel and Jessica Kirkland of the Blythe Daniel Agency for their support and willingness to take a chance on an old gray-haired baby boomer. You’ve shown me that it is certainly possible to take on a new career when most of my peers are retiring!