Jan Karon's Mitford Years

by Jan Karon

  “ ‘Scott and I will never be able to fully express our gratitude, but we vow we shall try until kingdom come.

  “ ‘Our wedding was everything we wanted, and so very much more. The sweetness of Holy Trinity will remain always in our hearts, and the glory of the mountains, robed in their richest and most extraordinary colors, will never fade from memory.

  “ ‘I’m told that brides sometimes have no recall of what happened during the ceremony! Yet I remember so vividly the way the church smelled, like moss and beeswax, apples and cedar. I can feel the carpet beneath my feet as I came down the aisle, and Scott’s hand on mine as we knelt together. And we remember your voice, Father, praying the simple prayer that seems to cover all of life’s goodness and grace:

  “ ‘Bless, O Lord, this ring, that he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in Thy peace, and continue in Thy favor, unto their life’s end, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

  “ ‘Afterward, we ate the cake you asked Esther to bake for us—it was the grandest cake imaginable! And I love that we bundled into our coats and went out to the wall with all those who are dear to us, to marvel at the first blush of sunset and drink champagne and laugh and weep and laugh again. Then away we dashed, perfectly astounded and happy that someone had actually tied tin cans on our bumper!

  “ ‘Laura Ingalls Wilder said it is the sweet, simple things of life that are the real ones, after all.

  “ ‘Our hearts are filled with gratitude for the sweet and simple treasure of your generosity and friendship. May you continue to abide in His peace and favor.

  “ ‘Scott and Hope

  “ ‘P.S. We belatedly wish you a happy anniversary. I just realized it was eight years ago last month when I watched you do the same, very extraordinary thing!

  “ ‘P.P.S. Vermont is enthralling.’ ”

  “A very happy letter!” said his wife.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask—did you notice that Hope’s sister, Louise, shy as she is, seemed to get on with George Gaynor? And vice versa, I might add.”

  “I did notice, actually.”

  He grinned. “My goodness,” he said.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  Nearly an hour before the service, he and Cynthia found people in the churchyard, bundled into their coats and jackets. Some were sitting on the wall; others strolled about, admiring the view.

  He had smelled wood smoke when they got out of the truck; he glanced up to make certain the banner was in place.

  Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, est. 1899

  Homecoming Day, October 28

  Welcome one and all

  It was nothing fancy, but if the curate wanted the trouble of an annual fete, this banner looked fit to outlast the Sphinx.

  “Paul Taggart,” said a jovial fellow, stepping forward to shake hands.

  “Timothy Kavanagh. You must be kin to Al Taggart who bush hogs for the McKinney sisters.”

  “Same dog, diff’rent fleas. I’m from over at Lambert.”

  “We’re glad to have you, Paul. My wife, Cynthia.”

  “Glad to meet you. My granmaw an’ granpaw went to church here; I’d about forgot this old place. That’s some of my cousins over yonder, an’ my wife and kids.”

  “We’ll just go in and get the preacher dolled up, and be right back,” said the vicar.

  “I pray we’ll have enough food,” Cynthia whispered, “much less enough places to sit.”

  The altar vases shone, the windows gleamed, the stove took the edge off the October chill.

  Sprinting to the sacristy, they hailed Lloyd and Violet, who were about to set their food offerings on the table.

  “‘Nana puddin’!” announced Violet, looking as if she’d hung the moon.“ ’Nough f’r a army!”

  “I brought m’ baked beans,” said Lloyd. “You want me t’ start th’ coffee after communion?”

  He gave Lloyd a thumbs up.

  Cynthia helped him draw the white alb over his head. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. “You look wonderful in that dress.”

  “Thank you, Father. We aim to please.” She buttoned his collar, and put the stole around his neck.

  “I’m wild about you, Kavanagh.”

  She helped him pull on the green chasuble. “I’m wild about you back.”

  Smiling, she tied his cincture, smoothed his tousled hair with her hands, and gave him an approving blast of her sapphire eyes.

  His heart rate was up. Way up.

  How lovely is thy dwelling place

  O Lord of hosts, to me!

  My thirsty soul desires and longs

  Within thy courts to be;

  My very heart and flesh cry out,

  O living God,for thee ...

  Leading the procession and wearing his new black robe with white cotta, Clarence Merton carried aloft the cross he’d carved from the wood of a fallen oak. Following him along the aisle were the choir—Violet O’Grady, Lloyd Goodnight, and Dooley Kavanagh—also wearing new robes.

  Beside thine altars, gracious Lord,

  The swallows find a nest;

  How happy they who dwell with thee

  And praise thee without rest...

  Robed, sick as a cat with apprehension, and with his hair slicked down tight as a stocking cap, acolyte Rooter Hicks processed behind the choir.

  They who go through the desert vale

  Will find it filled with springs,

  And they shall climb from height to height

  Till Zion’s temple rings...

  Vicar Kavanagh bowed to the cross above the altar and joined the choir by the piano, singing as if his life depended on it.

  He had welcomed the newcomers for a fare-thee-well, put forth a bit of church history, invited one and all to stay for their dinner on the grounds, and moved briskly onward.

  In all his years as a priest, he had experienced few Sundays so richly promising, and so dauntingly filled, as today would be.

  “Your pew bulletins were printed on Friday, well before I received some thrilling news, news that affects our entire parish—news that, indeed, causes the angels in heaven to rejoice.

  “Add to that yet another evidence of God’s favor to Holy Trinity, and I daresay your bulletin will be somewhat hard to follow.”

  He removed his glasses and looked out to his congregation; he felt a smile having its way with his face. “In short, be prepared for the best!”

  Several of the congregation peered at their pew mates, wondering.

  “In the fifth chapter of the book of James, we’re exhorted to confess our sins, one to another. In the third chapter of the book of Matthew, we read, ‘Then went out to him,’ meaning John the Baptist, ‘Jerusalem and all Judea, and all the region round about Jordan, and were baptized of him... confessing their sins.’

  “I’ve always esteemed the idea of confession, and in my calling, one sees a good bit of it. But this notion of confessing our sins one to another is quite a different matter. Indeed, it involves something more than priest and suppl
icant; it means confessing to the community, within the fellowship of saints.

  “When I left Holy Trinity on Friday, I was going home. But God pointed my truck in the opposite direction.

  “I drove to see someone I’ve learned to love, as I’ve learned to love so many of you since coming to Wilson’s Ridge.

  “We had talked and visited several times, and I could see that his distance from God had made things uphill both ways. But I always hesitated to ask him one simple question.

  “I didn’t hesitate this time. I asked him if he would pray a simple prayer with me that would change everything.”

  His eyes roved the packed pews, and those seated in folding chairs that lined the aisle. There was Jubal. And all the Millwrights. And Robert and Dovey and Donny, and Ruby Luster holding Sissie on her lap ...

  “Now, the thought of having everything changed in our lives is frightening. Even when the things that need changing are hard or brutal, some of us cling to them, anyway, because they’re familiar. Indeed, our brother had clung ... and it wasn’t working.

  “In our hymn this morning, we sang,‘They who go through the desert vale, or any parched and arid valley, will find it filled with springs.’ When we choose to walk through the valley with Him, He will be our living water. He will not only sustain us, but give us the grace to move, as that beautiful hymn says, from height to height.

  “In a moment, we will have a joyous baptizing, our first since Holy Trinity opened its doors again after forty years. As part of the service for Holy Baptism, our brother has asked if he might make his confession to all of us here today.

  “Before I call him forward, I’d like to recite the simple prayer he prayed, similar to one I prayed myself... long after I left seminary.

  “It’s a prayer you, also, may choose to pray in the silence of your heart. And when you walk again through the parched valley, as you’ve so often done alone, He will be there to walk through it with you. And that’s just the beginning of all that lies in store for those who believe on Him.”

  He bowed his head, as did most of the congregation.

  “Thank You, God, for loving me. And for sending Your son to die for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins, and receive Jesus Christ as my personal savior. Now, as Your child, I turn my entire life over to You.

  “Amen.

  “Robert Cleveland Prichard, will you come forward?”

  Robert moved along the crowded aisle, trembling; his knees were water and his veins ice.

  He stood by the pulpit and opened his mouth, but instead of words, tears came. For two days, that had been his worst fear. He turned away for a moment, then faced the people again.

  “I’d like t’ confess t’ you ... ,” he said.

  The very air in the nave was stilled. Robert raised his right hand.

  “... b’fore God... that I didn’t do it.”

  Father Tim looked out to Miss Martha and Miss Mary, both of whom had forgotten to close their mouths. He saw Lace, riveted by what was taking place; and there was Agnes, pale as a moonflower ...

  “I cain’t go into th’ details of all th’ stuff about m’ granpaw, ’cause they’s little young ‘uns in here. But Friday e’enin’ I done a thing with Father Tim that I guess I’ve wanted t’ do, but didn’t know how t’ do. I give it all over t’ Jesus Christ, like I should’ve done when m’ buddy talked t’ me about ’im in prison.

  “All I can say is, it’s good. It’s good.” Robert nodded, as if to himself. “I thank y’.”

  He gazed peaceably into the eyes of those seated in the nave.

  Agnes Merton stood, and together with Dooley Kavanagh, presented the century-old basin to Father Tim, who poured creek water into it from a tin pitcher.

  There was the sound of a log shifting in the firebox; something like a deep, collective sigh stirred among the pews.

  My faith looks up to thee,

  Thou Lamb of Calvary,

  Savior divine!

  Now hear me while I pray,

  Take all my guilt away;

  O let me from this day

  Be wholly thine.

  May thy rich grace impart

  Strength to my fainting heart,

  My zeal inspire;

  As thou has died for me,

  O may my love to thee

  Pure, warm and changeless be

  A living fire ...

  At the time of announcements, and with no suggestion of what was to come, Father Tim introduced Lloyd Goodnight and Clarence Merton.

  The two men took their places by the pulpit.

  Lloyd cleared his throat, blushed, and adjusted his shirt collar. He’d completely forgotten to check his fly, but it was too late, now.

  “What it’ll be is two stalls, one f‘r ladies, one f’r men, four b’ six each, with wash basins an all .”

  He pulled a note from his pocket, studied it a moment, and once again addressed the congregation.

  “Me an’ Clarence will be y’r builders. We’ll run a pipeline to th’ spring, like th’ ol’ schoolhouse done. We’ll have a tin roof an’ a concrete slab, an’ real good ventilation.

  “We thank you.”

  The congregation stood as one, and applauded.

  Rooter had pretty much felt his hair drying out by the end of the first hymn. He didn’t know which way it might be shooting up since Granny chopped it off with a razor. But he couldn’t think about that, he’d just gotten the signal from Father Tim and he had a job to do.

  He stood as close to the vicar as he could, for protection—though he wasn’t sure from what—and made the sign he’d learned this week from Clarence.

  “Watch Rooter,” said the vicar. Rooter made the sign, which involved three separate movements, three times. He was careful to do it slowly.

  “Now it’s our turn.” Some got it right off the bat, others struggled.

  “What are we saying here, Rooter?”

  “God ... loves ... us!” shouted Rooter.

  He hadn’t meant to shout. His face felt hot as a poker.

  “Amen!” said someone in the back row.

  “I’m asking you to give that sign to someone today,” said Father Tim. “And do it like you mean it, because He means it. Indeed, I would ask you to allow yourself... to really believe, from a deep place in your soul, that ...”

  His eyes searched the faces as he and Rooter signed.

  “... God ... loves ... us.

  “A men. ”

  “Amen!”

  He nodded to Sparkle and the choir. Clarence took up the cross.

  Blest be the tie that binds

  Our hearts in Christian love;

  The fellowship of kindred minds

  Is like to that above.

  Before our Father’s throne

  We pour our ardent prayers;

  Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,

  Our comforts and our cares.

  We share each other’s woes,

  Our mutual burdens bear;

  And often for each other flows

  The sympathizing tear ...

  The rain began at dusk.

  It quickly gathered force, and soon came down in sheets, filling dry creek beds and scattering cattle to the shelter of trees and run-in sheds.

  In the downpour, anyone driving past Green Valley Baptist probably wouldn’t have noticed the bold black letters of the sign by the road.

  LOVE IS AN ACT OF ENDLESS FORGIVENESS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Let the Stable Still Astonish

  They were piled in bed on the evening of the first Sunday in Advent, listening to Mozart and eating popcorn.

  Violet was curled on the seat of the rocking chair; Barnabas was snoring on the rug by the bureau; a frigid wind howled around the farmhouse.

  He noted that she’d been staring into space for some time, which could mean one, or even both, of two things. She was avidly relishing the Jupiter Symphony, or she was drumming up another book. He earnestly hoped the latter wasn�
�t even a remote possibility, but he’d learned that once she began staring into space ...

  “A live Nativity scene,” she said.

  “For Holy Trinity?”

  “For all of us. Right here at Meadowgate. In the kitchen. After the five o’clock mass on Christmas Eve.”

  “Tell me more.

  “I’m starting to plan ahead, you see.”

  “Always a good thing.”

  “Dooley and Lace could be Mary and Joseph.”

  “Terrific.”

  “You could be a shepherd.”

  “I was a shepherd for your book Mouse in the Manger. I posed with that ridiculous tablecloth on my head, or whatever it was. Do I have to be a shepherd again?”

  “But, Timothy, that’s what you are—a shepherd!”

  “Typecasting,” he said.

  He needed to do a little planning, himself.

  He thumbed to the back of his quote book and started making notes.

  First, he needed to drive to Mitford and pick up the Nativity scene he’d labored over for several months and presented to Cynthia last Christmas. He relished the thought of seeing it again, and the angel she’d made whole from smithereens.

  Better get his order in at The Local, while he was at it. Chocolate truffles for the nurses at Hope House, as ever, and the crowd at the Children’s Hospital in Wesley. And remind Avis to special order fresh oysters for his wife’s dynamite oyster pie.

  Something chocolate with nuts for Louella, and a rerun of last year’s lipstick from the drugstore ...

  Gifts for the twins, already purchased and wrapped. Checkmark.

  Sammy. Checkmark. He was personally enchanted by their gift for Sammy. It was a brilliant notion, if he did say so, himself.

  Dooley. Waiting for the raincoat to arrive, and the silver key chain. Sweater back-ordered. He despised back orders.