by Jan Karon
The character who showed up at Lew’s was probably one of the several who’d passed through Mitford over the years, seeking a handout from the priest at Lord’s Chapel. He’d kept a special cash fund labeled D&O, which only he and Emma knew to be Down and Out.
He hit the “message” button again.
“Father Tim? This is Betty Craig. I hate t’ bother you, but pretty soon, there’ll be nothin’ left of me t’ bother you with. Miss Rose throwed a pot lid at me, an’ that’s not th’ half of it. Let me know if you’ve come up with anything, an’ I hope t’ hear back real quick.” Beep.
He had no earthly idea what to do. If Esther Cunningham weren’t out riding the range, she’d have this thing in the can. After sixteen years in office, Esther had thrown in the towel, otherwise he’d have voted for her ’til the cows came home. The only thing to do was stall for time; he’d call Betty and give her a pep talk, and next week, he’d bear down on this ...
He glanced at the clock on the library mantel and noted that he was pacing the floor. This was no way to get his heart rate up. He felt oddly lost, anxious.
It was way too early for Sammy to be stirring. Cynthia was sleeping in ’til seven, having had a restless night. He’d already taken the dogs out and downed his toast and coffee. And, of course, he’d read the Morning Office and talked with the Lord, albeit in a dispirited sort of way, for his mind had dashed about like a terrier.
He continued pacing, pulling at his chin.
Sammy couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old when Pauline deserted her children, taking Poo with her. Clyde Barlowe had made off with Sammy; Kenny had been traded by his mother for a gallon of whiskey to a stranger named Ed Sikes; Jessie, the baby, had been abducted by a dysfunctional cousin of Pauline’s.
It was during this terrible upheaval that the eleven-year-old Dooley had come to live at the rectory. How he and Dooley had gotten through those early years was more than a mystery, it was a miracle. And now, Sammy ...
He realized that Sammy probably had little or no memory of ever sitting down at a table for a family meal. Almost everything he was doing at Meadowgate would be, in one way or another, new to him.
With one possible exception. Truth be told, Sammy had been reasonably deft at keeping his room in a semblance of order, which had amazed both Cynthia and the Flower Girls. Very likely, this sense of order came naturally to him; plus, he’d been father to his father for years, and therefore seriously acquainted with responsibility. Lon Burtie once said Sammy’s gambling in the pool hall helped put food on the table when Clyde drank up his disability check.
First thing this morning, he’d praise Sammy for the good job of keeping his room straight. He’d been meaning to mention that ...
The wind was picking up, he could smell the noxious odor of creosote throughout the house. Cynthia sneezed; he sneezed ... same old, same old. The chimney fiasco was a lesson in patience if ever there was one ...
At precisely seven-thirty, Lloyd and Buster trooped in with buckets of wet mortar, looking apologetic.
“We’ll try not to spill nothin’ on y’r floors.”
Buster nodded. “We’ll try not to.”
Willie trotted in their wake.
“Dozen,” said Willie, who had bypassed the frills of a carton and used his hat.
Father Tim plucked the brown eggs from the hat and deposited them in the blue bowl. “So we’re holding our own?”
“Yessir. Holdin’ steady.”
Maybe he’d been wrong, maybe the lowlife who’d robbed their henhouse had moved on, after all. A set of beat-up lowers and a can of beans were hardly an indication of serious housekeeping.
“It’s Del!”
He positively shouted as he saw the blue van with the American flag decal wheel into the backyard. A Confederate flag waved from the antenna.
His wife’s face lit up big-time. “I never dreamed I’d be thrilled to see Del—especially when I was expecting Lily.”
“Full of surprises, those girls.”
“Only one problem. Del doesn’t cook or bake, and we need a cake for Sunday. Sissie’s expecting it, and Roy Dale and Gladys ...”
“Won’t Lily be coming tomorrow?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, we’re on our own tomorrow; Lily’s doing a birthday party at the mayor’s office in Wesley.”
He considered this. “I don’t suppose baking a cake would get my heart rate up?”
“Probably not. But it would be lovely of you to try it and see.”
There he went again, opening his big mouth.
By eight-fifteen, they were en route to the attic, schlepping a vacuum cleaner, a broom, a dustpan, two easels, four boxes of art supplies, a box of art books, a stool, a basket of cleaning rags, an upholstered chair, a cat bed, two cat bowls, a ten-pound bag of cat food, a jug of drinking water, and a cat.
They bumped and thumped along the hall like so many Conestogas across Kansas.
He’d pitch in and haul one more load, then knock on Sammy’s door. Maybe he’d run to Mitford today and take Sammy and his siblings to Sweet Stuff, and pick up cake ingredients while he was at it.
Chances were, Sammy was already awake. Even a teenager would have trouble sleeping through the move from hell to heaven.
The bed was loosely spread, there was an empty package of Camels in the trash basket, unfolded laundry sat in the chair...
From a cursory look in the closet, Sammy was wearing the black jeans, blue sweatshirt, and threadbare tennis shoes he’d arrived in.
Maybe Sammy had gotten up early, and walked out to the garden, or even to the barn, and all that was needed was to go and find him. He stood looking out the window, unseeing, then turned and went downstairs.
He and Willie searched the place, but to no avail.
Sammy was gone. His heart told him so.
“I saw his potatoes yesterday. They were so healthy and beautiful. And the lettuce ...” His wife sat at her easel by the attic window, looking bereft.
“He’ll be back,” he said, trying to convince them both. “Gardeners always want to see their potatoes come in.”
He sat in the upholstered chair they’d dragged up from the lower hall. He didn’t want to ask this; he knew he wouldn’t like the sound of it in the room. “Should we call the police?”
“I think we should give him a chance to come home,” she said. “What if he just went to the woods to think things over? Or maybe he walked to Kirby’s Store. The police seem a very serious piece of business at this point.”
“I guess we shouldn’t call Dooley ...”
“Heavens, no!”
“Pray that we don’t have to.”
“I’m praying,” she said.
“Want another cup of coffee?”
“It’s a long trip to the kitchen.”
“It’ll get my heart rate up,” he said, glad for something to do.
“Coming again soon?” he asked Del.
“If m’ back don’t go out.” She was shifting the kitchen table away from the stove so she could open the door and clean the oven. She gave Lloyd and Buster a look they’d be grateful to have missed.
“Know anyone who sits with the elderly, does a little cooking, that sort of thing?”
“Th’ trouble with elderly is, you don’t sit with ’em, they keep you bobbin’ up an’ down like a jack in th’ box.”
“But do you know anyone?”
“Our mama’s done that ...”
“Terrific!”
“But now she’s elderly. So, no, sir, I don’ know n’body.”
“I’m baking a cake today,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.
Del had dropped to her knees and was getting on with it.
“Know anything about cake baking?” Baking a ham was one thing, but cake was another.
“Not a bloomin’ thing, an’ don’t want t’ learn. I knowed a woman who choked t’ death on coconut cake. That done it f‘r me right there. I only bake pie, now, an’ as li
ttle of that as I can git by with.”
He’d get no help around here.
He hadn’t threatened or cajoled or demanded, he’d said what had to be said, and there was no turning back. He had spoken the truth in love, and that would have to be OK.
He prayed again for Sammy’s safekeeping, and for God to lift the heaviness from both their hearts and give them wisdom.
Cynthia said she’d be waiting when Sammy came home, and in the meantime, Holy Trinity’s vicar was to go and do something for himself that wasn’t work related, something light and amusing and entirely brainless.
But he didn’t know how to do that, he’d protested.
I’m sure you can come up with something, she’d said, gazing at him as if he were a four-year-old.
For one thing, he thought as he started the truck, he might drop in on Blake Eddistoe on his way to Mitford to get the cake ingredients. After all, they hadn’t seen Blake in weeks, except to wave whenever they glimpsed him down at the kennels.
And then he would ...
As he was trying to figure a further agenda, he forgot his mission and blew past the clinic and out the gate and onto the state road. The new wayside pulpit flashed by.
IF GOD IS YOUR CO-PILOT,
CHANGE SEATS.
And then he would ...
Would what? He was brainless, all right, not to mention sick at heart.
It occurred to him that Sammy may have hitchhiked to Wesley. So maybe he should turn around and go home and call Bud Wyzer. But no, it was too early; the pool hall didn’t open ’til one o’clock.
Out of the blue, the proverbial lightbulb switched on. He was amazed that he could come up with a sensible idea at a time like this.
“She’s back there somewhere,” said Judd Baker. “I’ve seen her with my own eyes this morning, she bought baking soda.”
“Don’t let me get out of here without ingredients for a cake,” said the vicar. “And before I go, I’d be grateful to use your phone, into the bargain. Local call.”
“No problem.What kind of cake? I’ll be glad to pull your stuff together.”
“Hadn’t thought of what kind ...” Blast. Now he had to figure what kind. “Don’t have a clue. What do you think?”
“Can’t go wrong with chocolate.”
“Do it, and I’ll appreciate it.”
“Nuts in your frosting?”
“Whatever you say. Surprise me!” He’d be surprised, all right, if he could bake a cake that anybody would eat.
“Miss Lottie?”
He merely tapped on the door, not wishing to startle her. When he got no answer, he knocked louder—Absaloms widowed sister may have trouble hearing.
The door opened and a stooped, whitehaired woman peered out. “Miss Lottie! Father Tim Kavanagh, Absalom’s old friend.”
She looked at him curiously, then smiled in recognition.
“Is this a good time?”
“You’ll have to speak up!” called Judd.
“Is this a good time, Miss Lottie?”
“Oh, yes, anytime is a good time for a friend of Absalom’s.” She stepped aside for him to pass into the sitting room.
He felt a stab of nostalgia. The room was more beautiful than he remembered, with a clematis vine grown over the small window like crochet work. The minuscule fireplace with its rock surround sat beneath a shelf of smoke-blackened cherry that displayed faded photographs of Greer’s Store in its heyday, and a hand-colored portrait of Absalom as a young evangelist.
“I’m sorry to hear about your cat, Miss Lottie.”
“Thomas gave me eighteen years of mousing and companionship.That should be enough for anybody, but I miss him, nonetheless.”
Her hand trembled as she indicated Absalom’s chair. Then she took the chair across from him, where she’d stationed herself for so many years as her brother’s companion, confidante, nursemaid, and housekeeper.
“I’ve been hoping you would come,” she said, lowering her eyes to her lap. “Absalom thought the world of you. You were always so kind to us, and thoughtful.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but it was you and your brother who were kind to me. I did stop by recently; but I’m ashamed I haven’t been here more often.”
“Everyone’s so busy,” she said, as if bewildered by this truth.
“I hear you get out and about.”
She nodded, smiling. “When I can.”
“I miss Absalom. He was the best of the lot.”
“Yes. He was.” Always shy, she seemed shyer still. “I wanted to tell you how it grieves me to know I failed him.”
“Good heavens! In what way, may I ask?”
“You know I was against his love for Sadie Baxter. All those years, I conspired against Sadie, and spoke meanly of her, for I didn’t wish to lose my brother.”
She raised her head and looked at him with frank, brown eyes. “As children, Absalom and I were as thick as thieves, as Mother used to say, and he was always tender to his little sister. Each summer, he climbed the cherry tree and brought me down a hatful of cherries.”
“I always wanted a brother or sister,” he said, as if thinking aloud.
“When my husband died after such a brief marriage, Absalom took me in. I didn’t have to worry about anything at all. He depended on the Lord and I depended on Absalom.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “He was everything to me, and now it’s too late.”
“Too late for what, Miss Lottie?”
“To late to ask forgiveness of them both. I so regret not asking their forgiveness.”
“I’m sure you’ve asked God’s forgiveness.”
“No,” she said. “I never have. God was Absalom’s territory. I let him handle such things for us both.”
“Ah.”
“I never understood God in the way Absalom did.”
“What do you mean?”
“God seemed so near to Absalom, and so distant to me. I would go to my brother and say, ‘Brother, will you pray for a good crop of potatoes this year?’ And he would pray and the Lord would faithfully provide. When I prayed, it didn’t seem to ... work. So I quit. Long years ago.”
She sounded wistful.
“It’s never too late, Miss Lottie.”
“For what, Father?”
“For the peace of His forgiveness.”
A breeze stirred the clematis vine at the window, rearranging the pattern of light on the hearth rug.
“When we ask God to forgive us—and we must ask—the peace floods in. By emptying ourselves of the guilt and regret, we make room for His grace.”
She sat looking at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.
“Absalom was a man after God’s own heart, and I have no doubt that He loved your brother mightily. But He loves you, too. Do you know that?”
“I don’t know that ... like I should. I never thought it important for me to know all those things about the Lord, if Absalom knew them. I believed my only task was to serve my brother, so he could serve the Almighty.”
“Serving your brother was a great service to God. Look how fit you helped keep Absalom as he preached all those years to his little handfuls. Think of the souls that were saved in his long years of ministry, and the lives that were changed forever.You had something to do with that, Miss Lottie, something important.”
Tears shone in her eyes.
“I miss him most after supper,” she said, “when he’d tell me about his day out in the world.”
“He sat right here, didn’t he?”
“Yes, right there, for all those years. That was his spot to study the Word, and think on his sermons, and read. He wasn’t school educated, you know.”
“I know.”
“He educated himself.”
“That may be best, in the end.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “If you ask, you still have a companion you can talk with every evening after supper.”
She leaned her head to one side, pondering his meaning.
She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, my gracious.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t even think such a thing.Why would He want to ... to sit with me?” She looked at him, aghast.
“Miss Lottie, if you had a child, wouldn’t you like to spend time with her in the evenings and go over the affairs of the day? Enjoy being together?”
“Oh, yes!” she said.
“You’re God’s child.You can tell Him everything, and ask Him anything. And think how grateful He’d be for your company.”
She shook her head, dumbstruck.
“In the book of Revelation, we learn why He created us—it was for His pleasure. Indeed, He made us for Himself.”
“Absalom used to say that—that He made us for Himself.” A certain wonder softened her features.
“It isn’t too late, Miss Lottie.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. It’s time.”
He left the sitting room with a feeling of elation.
“Chocolate cake mix, frosting in a can, walnuts,” said Judd. “You got eggs?”
“I’ll say!”
“You got sugar?”
“The whole nine yards, except for the basics here.”
“There you go, then. Done deal.”
“Many thanks.” He dug in his pocket for his billfold. “May as well give me two of everything; we have a new Sunday School under way and the children are fond of cake.” And wasn’t Dooley coming home in no time flat? “Then again, make that three of everything. Are Miss Lottie’s needs taken care of?”
“They are. Her brother left her in good shape.”
“I’ll be back now and then,” he said. “May I use your phone?”
“On th’ wall over there.”
No, Cynthia told him, Sammy hadn’t come home. He heard the anxiety in her voice.
He left Greer’s Store with a sense of dread.