“I was lookin’ for inspiration, waiting to hear what God wanted me to say,” Sadie continued. “So, there I was, flipping through the pages. And the phone rang.”
Oh, good grief, Sadie. Spit it out.
“It was Martha Washington, and—sorry ’bout this, Martha, but you know how you carry on sometimes—and before I knew it, ten minutes had passed. When I finally got back to my Bible readin’, I find the Good Book opened up to Exodus. Well, I don’t need to tell you what part of Exodus those pages were opened up to, now do I?”
I had a feeling I knew where this was going but decided to keep my mouth shut. So, did most everyone else. Pastor Parry had to know what she was talking about, but even he kept his silence. This was truly Sadie’s show.
“Exodus, chapter twenty,” Sadie said. “The Ten Commandments, for crying out loud! Don’t any of you read your Bible?” She looked out across the table.
Heads bobbed, tongues wagged. Nobody wanted to be accused of not knowing their Bible.
“Mr. President,” she said, “how about you? Ever heard of ’em?”
I had to hand it to STR. He knew how to take an insult graciously. “Yes, I have. Indeed, I have. But tell me more about this morning.” Good redirection, Mr. President.
She nodded. “Right. When I hung up with Martha, my Bible was turned to Exodus, chapter twenty.” She took a few steps away from the president, twirled around, and pointed at him. “But I didn’t turn it there. Just Who do you suppose did?”
President Rogers looked baffled. “Why, I don’t know. Was someone in the house with you?”
“Nope.”
“Was there a fan blowing on it?”
“Nope.”
“How about an open window?”
“Bingo.”
STR smiled. “Okay then, mystery solved. Somehow the breeze ruffled the pages and turned it to Exodus, chapter twenty.”
“Let me ask you this, Mr. President,” Sadie said, walking back to him. “Who made the breeze?”
He thought about that for a second then said, “God did. Are you saying that God used the breeze to open your Bible to that particular page?”
“Are you saying He couldn’t do that if He wanted to?”
He shook his head. “Not in the least. Not in the least.”
She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “So, what else could account for it?”
“Coincidence? Happenstance? A fluke?”
Sadie harrumphed. “I should’ve expected a politician to disregard the obvious and explain something like this away with superstitious, stupid luck.”
I couldn’t take anymore. “Sadie, that’s just about enough. You’re talking to the President of the United States here, not some conman or thief or liar. Show him some respect. He deserves that whether you agree with him or not.”
Sadie glared at me.
STR held up his hand and said, “Thank you, Pastor, but I can take it. Believe me. I’ve heard worse. Besides I think Sadie’s making a very good point.” He waved his hand toward her. “Please continue.”
I sat down. It isn’t often a president tells you to butt out. Maybe I should have felt honored, but I didn’t have time just then. Maybe later. I sighed and steeled myself for her next onslaught.
She surprised me, though. “Sir, Pastor Foster’s right. I was out of line there. I apologize for calling luck superstitious and stupid. Whether or not you’re a conman or thief or liar, though, is debatable.”
I started to protest, and STR stopped me again with an upraised hand. Twice? I’ll be in the record books.
“Sadie, I think you should explain yourself on that one.” He looked at her and waited. “Don’t you?”
Finally, he was acting presidential.
She had the good sense to look embarrassed, but rallied quickly. “Okay, I will, Mr. President. I know, I’m getting’ a bit outta line here, you bein’ the president ‘n’ all, but I got somethin’ worth hearin’ here, and I want you to hear it. Now, we all know that someone who lies is a liar. Someone who steals is a thief.” The president nodded. Sadie continued, “And finally, a conman.” She paused. “Now in my book, a conman gets something out of someone by promising something in return and then goes back on his word.”
He thought a moment before he answered her. “Okay, I see where you’re going with this. What about the thief?” He waved his hand and said, “Obviously, a thief is one who steals. If you’re implying that I’m a liar, conman, and thief, what are you accusing me of stealing?”
“Let me take one thought at a time, Mr. President. First of all, the thief has stolen the hopes and expectations of Christian voters all around the country. Secondly, what makes you think I’m talking about you?”
“Don’t you feel I cheated the voters by not living up to my campaign promises?”
“As a matter of fact,” Sadie said, “I do. But that’s not to say that there aren’t plenty of others in our government who haven’t done the same thing. It’s just that you’re the one I’m most disappointed in. Those others …” she waved her hand around as if scattering wildflowers seeds—rather than tossing about presidential insults—and her gaze landed directly on Irene Austin. “Sorry about this, Mrs. Austin. This isn’t anything against you. But men like your husband are career conmen.” She turned back to STR. “I thought you were the real deal, that you’d be the one to turn this country around. Get us back on track again, you know? Steer us back to God.”
STR stared at Sadie and for an instant I thought he might lash out at her. After all, what president wants to hear he’s failed the very people he pledged to lead not so long before? Who wants to be accused of stealing the hopes and expectations of thousands of voters—Christians, at that? And perhaps saddest of all, what president wants to hear he’s a liar?
But STR just stared at her and said nothing. Nobody opened their mouths. Even Winnie had the good sense to stay healthy, and Frank was either awake or had died in his sleep. No snoring, no whispering, no faux heart attacks. Odd. I’m sure most folks thought Sadie had finally overstepped her bounds and stomped on the most powerful man in the world. After a few seconds, even Sadie started to fidget. Just as I was about to step in, escort Sadie back to her place—under house arrest—and threaten her with thirty days of being locked in the same room with Winnie Wyandotte and Martha Washington, STR blinked. Still no words, though. He appeared to be looking through, rather than at Sadie. After what seemed like a week, he shook his head a little and came out of his trance.
“I’m sorry, Sadie.” He turned to me and then, in turn, looked at each of us around the table. “And the rest of you, as well. I apologize for my rudeness. Obviously, I was not thinking clearly just then. I have a good reason, but this isn’t the time or place to share that information with you.”
He turned to Sadie. “How about you and I, and anyone else who wants to join us, convene a summit Sunday morning? Let’s get on with this wedding and celebrate it the way we should. I promise you I’ll answer any and all of your questions Sunday morning—before, after, or during church services. Your choice.” Well, thank you very much, Mr. President, for hijacking my sermon.
STR held out his hand to Sadie, they shook, and the deal was struck.
It was official: the first ever—and hopefully, only—Presidential Promise Breakers Summit at Road’s End, Virginia was a done deal.
Chapter 30
Despite reports by Titus Shadler of Road’s End’s WEND Radio that a storm of great proportion was on its way, Saturday morning dawned with blue skies, just a few wispy clouds, and temps in the low 70s.
Keep in mind this is the same Titus Shadler who told us just a few weeks ago, that a volcanic eruption in our immediate area was imminent. Turns out he was listening to a newsfeed from Guam via ham radio operators from around the globe, reducing the accuracy of such information by seven different languages and nearly that many time zones. George and Dewey spent the better part of two weeks driving around the countryside looking for the
hulking, smoking, lava-belching mountain. They eventually gave up and made one of their own in Dewey’s kitchen. Their wives will never forgive Titus.
For a while, our local newscaster had a hard time convincing anyone of anything, and for at least one month, advertisement revenue dropped to an all-time low of fifty dollars, although that’s not far from the all-time high of sixty-four dollars. Only Frank Yates, Titus’s brother-in-law, continued advertising, and I suspect that was only because Frank was afraid if Titus lost any more money, his sister would kill him while he, Frank, that is, slept. Considering it was Frank, that made him a potential murder victim about twenty-three hours out of every single day of the rest of his life. She also took away Titus’s ham radio privileges for several weeks. I hope the world is okay without him.
I admit to hoping that Titus was wrong this time, too. After all, this was my daughter’s wedding day. So far, so good, though, and I awoke full of energy and good thoughts about my fellow man.
That lasted the usual three minutes after I went downstairs.
Because Mandy and Jonathan wanted a candlelight ceremony, the wedding was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. that evening. That gave us plenty of time to finish decorating the church, prepare the food, get ourselves cleaned up and dressed, and attend to any last-minute details. That was the plan. Right.
I’ve seen fewer people at a mall three days before Christmas at an “all you can grab for free” sale than I encountered on my way to the kitchen from our bedroom. It was 6:00 a.m., for crying out loud. Don’t these people ever sleep? Well, aside from Frank. He was snoring away in one of the wing chairs next to the fireplace. I wondered why he was there in the first place, let alone so early, when my answer bobbled its red-haired way toward me from the kitchen.
“Hey, Pastor Foster! Great day, huh?”
“Sherman,” I said, trying not to groan aloud. “What brings you here so early in the morning? I thought you left to go back to Pennsylvania.”
Sherman almost choked on his powdered sugar-covered doughnut. “Ha, good one, Pastor! Are you kidding? Granddad and me wouldn’t miss this wedding for all the tea in Japan. ’Sides, Aunt Winnie told all us men to be here at five-thirty sharp. Said you’d want us around for mortal support.
Mortal?
“She’d kill us for leavin’ before we even had a chance to meet the president and introduce him to Sophie.”
It was my turn to choke. “No! No, Sherman. No one’s introducing Sophie to anyone. Got that? Not the president, not the vice-president, not the emperor of China. No one! Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have some things to attend to.”
Sherman’s eyes grew wide, and for a minute, I thought I’d been too harsh with him. “I’m sorry, son. It’s just that I’m busy and everyone else is busy and well, we’re busy. That’s all.”
He stepped aside to let me into the dining room and grinned. “No problem, Pastor. I got things to do, too. Never dreamed I’d meet the prez, the vice-prez, and the emperor—he pronounced it em-per—of China on the same day. Whoa.” He looked mighty impressed. I thought about correcting him but decided I was better off with Sherman spending his day looking for heads of state. Maybe he’d forget about Sophie.
Old men eating pastries filled the dining room. Make that men of all ages eating pastries. Tanner, his face covered in chocolate frosting, waved a sticky-fingered hand at me and yelled “Gwampa!” while Jonathan, STR, Joe, Rudy, Bristol, and yes, even Dodge DeSoto, as well as my male parishioners, minus Frank, stood guard over the buffet table lest someone else snag the next doughnut or cinnamon roll they had their eyes on. I grinned at Tanner and elbowed my way into the kitchen.
Unbelievably, the kitchen scene was even worse. Nothing creates bedlam like eight hundred or so years of female baking, roasting, peeling, frosting. whipping, and gossiping expertise all crammed into the same space. Not to mention bossing around. No, let’s not forget that. Since none of them was paying one whit of attention to the others, that left me, by default, as the one who got himself bossed around.
Mel spotted me first. “Hugh! Thank goodness you’re finally here!”
Finally?
“Here, grab this and take it over there, will you?” She pointed to the countertop behind me where there was a vacant space exactly four inches’ square.
I grabbed something hot—something very, very hot, and practically chucked it at the countertop. Someone, turned out to be Sadie, yelled, “Watch it, fella! You’re gonna burn someone doin’ stuff like that.” Yep, Sadie. That someone would be me.
Winnie thrust a bowl at my chest and then proceeded to whip its contents into a frenzy with the mixer. Martha handed me an armful of dirty dishes, and Irene Austin—her long white hair pulled back into a loose ponytail—stuck a spoonful of something into my mouth. “How’s that taste? Too salty? Too tart? Enough sugar? Does it need tarragon?” Since I had no idea if it was turkey gravy or wallpaper paste, I had nothing to offer. I just shrugged and smiled. She beamed. “Great! I’ll tell everyone you gave it your blessing, Pastor.” Gee, thanks, Irene. Thanks, a big bunch.
I wiggled my way past several ladies—“Excuse me, Martha,” “Can I just get through here, Winnie?” “I’m so sorry, Ruby Mae. I didn’t see you with that tree limb ... uh, that trailing ivy hanging from your hat”—and scurried out the back door before I could get into any more trouble. But I keep forgetting that trouble isn’t behind me. It’s attached to me like a fifth limb. Where I go, it goes. There is no getting away from it; there is no avoiding it. My mother used to ask me if trouble was my middle name. These last few months in Road’s End have managed to answer that question, thank you very much. The only thing left to wonder is how much trouble I’ll be getting into.
The thought of my mother reminded me of my parents’ arrival this morning. I set out in search of Mack to make sure his agents didn’t throw them to the ground or frisk them before they could explain they were the bride’s grandparents. I found him talking to a couple of semi-giants, not as big as Mack, but bigger than most linebackers and certainly larger than me. They wore dark suits, earpieces with squiggly little cords running into their collars, and sunglasses. Nice disguises, guys.
Mack looked up as I approached. “Hey, Hugh, about time you got here.”
“About time?” I checked my watch. “Mack, it’s 6:40 a.m. How much earlier did you expect to see me?”
Mack ignored that and instead lifted a finger to let me know he’d be with me when he was finished talking to the pair of giants beside him. I stood there looking ... well, small, and waited. I couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. One of them, blond-haired with a boyish face and shoulders that reminded me of those metal clothesline poles in our backyard when I was a boy, couldn’t take his eyes off Mack. He grinned and nodded at everything Mack said. “Yes sir, Agent MacElroy. Sounds good. Will do. Roger that.”
The other one, a bit older, taller, and completely bald, with a hooked nose and dark eyes, tried to glare a hole through the younger kid’s brain. He reminded me of a bald eagle, and I imagined him swooping down and snagging that poor Mack-wannabe right off the ground and tossing him into Pennsylvania.
Mack and his cleverly disguised henchmen finished their conversation, and he turned to talk to me, but not before Blondie, whose named turned out to be Arthur, gave him a stylish salute and fairly hollered, “Yes, sir!”
Mack rolled his eyes, took me by the arm, and led me closer to the picket fence that surrounded the yard.
I leaned against the fence, crossed my arms, and grinned. “Got an admirer there, Mack?”
He groaned. “That kid’s gonna drive me up the wall. I’m all for enthusiasm, but this rookie’s over the top. He’s so thrilled to be on the team I’m afraid he’s gonna start crying.”
“His first assignment?”
“No, but this is the first time I’ve worked with him. Thought this sleepy little town would be a good way to break him in, and he’s been bugging me for months now. But he’s like a mosquito. A delir
iously happy, pesky mosquito.”
I laughed. “Well, you brought him to the right place then. He’ll fit right in. Besides, that other guy looks like he can keep him in line.”
“Reynolds? Yeah, that one’s all business,” he said. “But Artie’s so dumb he can’t even see Reynolds can’t stand him.”
“I don’t think I’d want Reynolds on my bad side,” I said. “He’s a scary one.”
Mack nodded. “Yeah, well, scary comes in handy sometimes in this line of work.” He gave me an anemic smile and said, “Hugh, I think we’ve got a problem.”
I said, “Oh?”
“Don’t panic,” he said, “but I received some intel that there might be some trouble today.”
Intel? He needs intel to figure that out? Why doesn’t anybody pay any attention to me? “Mack, I can practically guarantee there’ll be trouble today, but I have a feeling your intel isn’t talking about my friends and neighbors.”
“No, it’s not. Wish it were, frankly. Be a whole lot easier to handle if it were.”
Not so fast there, buddy. You haven’t messed with this town yet.
He snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot. Your radio station’s reporting some bad weather on its way. Couldn’t make it out very well, though. Lot of static. They broadcasting from the moon?”
I shook my head and jerked my thumb behind me. “About a hundred feet that direction. Don’t worry about it. Titus is notorious for getting things wrong.”
He grinned. “Good. One less thing to worry about. And about that other thing, I’ll let you know more when I can, but in the meantime, keep an eye out for anything or anyone who looks strange, okay?”
No problem there. I should just ask Mack to save us all a big bunch of trouble and arrest everyone here, the president excluded, of course, along with my family and maybe Bristol, and have the wedding all by our lonesome. There’d be some vicious backlash afterward, and I wouldn’t be eating any of Sadie’s peanut butter cookies for a few weeks, but I’d worry about that after the wedding.
Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2) Page 16