Potter Springs

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Potter Springs Page 9

by Britta Coleman


  Mrs. Weatherby nodded. Dale arched a look at Mark as if to communicate, Listen closely to how it’s done. You might learn something.

  Mark cocked an eyebrow. Go ahead, big boy. He stayed by the door.

  “Our Heavenly Father Great Almighty Jehovah God,” Dale bellowed in one breath. “We are gathered here today in this thine most holy day, the day of the Sabbath, to join in communion of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. We lift up to thee at this time the heart and soul of this grave sinner, Mrs. Ruby Weatherby, and ask that thou wouldst forgive her for her trespasses, which are many, and cleanse the blackness from her evil heart.”

  Mrs. Weatherby tilted forward in the wheelchair and, for a terrifying second, Mark thought she might fall out. A low snore escaped her.

  Evidently, Dale was used to such wily actions as he thumped a hand on Mrs. Weatherby’s fluffy head, rousing her from her doze.

  Startled, she made another unintelligible sound and looked at Mark. He put his palms together and closed his eyes to remind her, We’re praying, Mrs. Weatherby. He winked and a wide grin spread over her features as she followed suit. She giggled like a naughty girl in Sunday school, her wrinkled lids squashed shut.

  Dale pursed his lips, then barreled on with the praying. “Thy word doth say that if we confess with our mouth that Jesus is Lord and believeth in our hearts that thou hath raiseth”-he stumbled a little on all the th’s—“him from the dead, we shall be saved!” He took a deep breath, worn out from his own drama.

  Dale thumped Mrs. Weatherby’s fragile crown again. She made no sound. “Mrs. Weatherby receives this bounty of thine true sacrifice, the Holy Lamb of God, slain for her sins, and she doth pray she might be made worthy of such blessings.” Dale opened his eyes and surveyed Mrs. Weatherby, clearly doubting such worthiness might occur anytime soon.

  He dispensed the crackers and pop-top cup of juice with clinical formality. She might have been taking her afternoon vitamins.

  The purple liquid dribbled down her chin as Dale ignored her, checking the chart for the next shut-in requiring communion.

  Mark knelt in front of the wheelchair and drew a snow-white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the juice from Mrs. Weatherby’s face, her skin like tissue drawn thin. He took care not to pull the creases and smiled into her cataract eyes. “Jesus loves you, Mrs. Weatherby.”

  She nodded and began humming. Mark recognized the tune. A child’s singsong favorite. Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Weatherby.” Mark patted her hand, gentle for the swollen veins there. “We’ll see you next week.”

  But by then she was already asleep.

  MARK WAITED IN the lobby while Dale met with the nursing home’s office manager. A bowl of potpourri sat on the table, contributing to the more pleasant smell in the waiting room.

  After serving communion to six more residents, Mark wanted nothing more than a steaming shower. Whether to cleanse the nursing-home stench from his skin, or the experience of ministering with Dale, he wasn’t sure.

  He’d give the man five more minutes. Leave him and his “you wait out here” control issues and walk home if he had to. He wished he’d driven the church pickup rather than depend on Dale for a ride.

  If only he had his jogging shoes, he’d be back on Mesquite Street in ten minutes flat.

  “You must be Mark Reynolds.” A Southern voice poured over his right shoulder.

  But he’d smelled her before he heard her-a musky perfume that reminded him of magnolias. Strong enough to overpower Shady Springs’ eau de toilet.

  He turned and saw an attractive woman carrying a large basket, briskly headed his way. She balanced just fine in three-inch heels as she clicked up to his vinyl chair.

  Mark hoped the stink from the nursing home didn’t cling to him like a demon aroma. “Yes, and you are?”

  “Courtney Williams, president of Lakeview Community Ladies’ Guild.” Setting down her basket, she tossed her long blonde hair and offered a manicured hand. “They told me all about you. My!” she exclaimed as he stood. “You are big! Football, right?”

  “No, heredity. But I did play some.” Mark smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.” He briefly wondered if the rest of the guild looked like this. Christie Brinkley in the Uptown Girl phase. Big hair, lots of makeup, stunning in a shiny kind of way.

  “Serving communion with Dale?” She made it sound like fighting for world peace, a truly heroic deed.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “That’s so nice of y’all. You don’t see many people up here. Not even on Sundays.” She crossed her arms over a fitted top, knitted from several sacrificial bunnies.

  “Are you visiting someone?” Mark thought Courtney looked more ready for a photo shoot than an afternoon at the nursing home.

  “Ruby Weatherby. Did you meet her?”

  At Mark’s nod, she said, “She’s my Gran. We have a date every Sunday. Girlie day.” Courtney pointed to an array of polishes in the basket.

  The twinkly toes, Mark remembered. “I bet she enjoys that.”

  “She does.” Courtney smiled. “It’s the simple things she likes now. We have a little lunch, a makeover, sing some songs. Sometimes she participates, sometimes I feel like I’m flying solo. After meeting her”-Courtney shrugged-“you can imagine. Still,” she said brightly, “she’s my Gran.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates you.”

  An old man squeaked by in a wheelchair, his back curved in a permanent comma. His bare legs stuck out like hairy Q-Tips, cotton socks puddled at his ankles. He stopped his wheels about a foot away from Courtney and cricked his neck up at her. “You wanna see my possum?” he invited, clawing at his bathrobe.

  Without batting an eye, Courtney replied sweetly, “No, thank you, Mr. Pierson. Be good now and go on to your room.” She twirled his wheelchair, pointed it down a corridor and gave a solid push.

  Over his shoulder, Mr. Pierson glared at Mark. Clearly judging him a rival for Courtney’s affections. The old man wheeled away, muttering.

  “Listen.” Courtney brushed Mark’s arm for a bare instant.

  The magnolia scent tickled his nose again. A good kind of tickle.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it out to the housewarming party when you moved in. I’m a teacher at the elementary, and we had a prep day.”

  Mark noticed for the first time Courtney’s apple earrings. “Don’t worry about it. Although I’m sure my wife, Amanda, would be happy to meet you.” He thought of Amanda at home, probably still in his pajamas, covered in blankets on the couch. Wool socks instead of heels, soap instead of heady perfume. No dynamo outfit, no glossy smile. He pushed the comparison away.

  “I know you’re just getting settled, but she really should come to the Ladies’ Guild kickoff luncheon. I can introduce her around,” Courtney offered. “I know just about everybody.”

  “Thanks, I’ll tell her.” Mark felt a surge of gratitude for Courtney’s diplomacy. Not once had the woman asked, Where in the world has your wife been?

  “Good.” She nodded, as if sealing the deal. Courtney bent to pick up the basket.

  Mark tried hard not to linger on the deep V in the front of her sweater.

  “And Mark”-she straightened-“may I call you Mark?”

  “Sure.” He blinked.

  “Well, Mark, if you need anything at all, just anything, you let me know.” She turned to leave, her pencil skirt snug over her backside. “Oh,” she called. “And Amanda too.”

  He watched her go, her heels tapping cheerfully.

  “I see you’ve met our fair Courtney.” Dale stood at Mark’s elbow.

  He hadn’t heard the man approach, even in his stacked cow-boy boots. Dale had slithered in without sound, like a prairie snake just before the rattle.

  Mark couldn’t help but wonder when he’d get bitten.

  “You ready?” Mark was beginning to dislike the president of the board with an int
ensity he could taste.

  Dale made no sign of moving. “She’s divorced, you know. No kids. Does just about everything at the church.”

  Down the hall, Courtney stopped at Mrs. Weatherby’s door and fluttered a hand at the two men staring at her.

  “Yep.” Dale jingled his keys. “You two’ll be working together quite a bit. Should be cozy—what with her being so easy on the eyes.”

  “Really?” Mark said. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  CHAPTER 14

  getting to know you

  The ladies need you.” Mark swung the doors on an armoire at Barry’s Fine Furniture. “What do you think of this one?”

  “Cheap. See how it’s split already, in the corner?” Amanda thought they might never find what they needed, in all of Potter Springs. Barry’s boasted plenty of powder blue velveteen and oak veneer, but they had yet to light on the perfect dining set. Let alone bedroom pieces. “And no, they don’t need me.”

  “Are you finding everything all right?” Barry himself trailed behind them, in gray polyester slacks and a Looney Tunes tie. Apparently ecstatic to have real-live customers on a Tuesday afternoon. “That’s a fine chifforobe right there. You can stick clothes in it, or a television. See the holes in the back, for the plug?” He made a punching thumbs-up gesture. “Versatile!”

  “Thanks, we’re just looking.” Amanda led the way to the dining sets, away from the owner’s eavesdropping.

  “Peggy can’t be there,” Mark continued, once out of Barry’s earshot. “Her aunt’s got shingles, so she’s gone to Talukah.”

  “I know. I got her message.”

  As Ervin’s wife and unofficial director of women’s ministries, Peggy would normally be in charge of the luncheon. “You can do it, honeygirl,” the older woman had promised on the answering machine, right before Amanda pressed delete.

  Mark lifted the price tag on a dusty dinette. “This one’s in our price range.”

  “It’s chrome”

  Barry hollered from behind the counter. “That style’ll last you forever.” He jabbed his thumb in the air again. “Classic! I can come down on the price, but only ’cause you’re friends and all.”

  Amanda had never laid eyes on Barry before today. “Do you know him?” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” Mark called in return, and pulled Amanda to the rear of the store. “Barry sings in the choir. Gave me his card a month ago and asked me to come by. I’ve been promising I would.” He stopped in front of a pillow-top mattress. “Honey, about the luncheon. Somebody from the staff, or staff family, should go. And it’s a women’s function.”

  So, because I have ovaries, I’m subject to an afternoon of horrible food and small talk? Amanda sighed and sank down on the bed. “How long will it last?”

  Mark grinned in victory. “Just a couple hours. You’ll know some of them already from the move-in.”

  “There’s no way I’ll remember their names.” Moving day was a blur, but a few stood out in her memory. Of course, crying all over Peggy wasn’t something she’d soon forget. But Ervin’s wife seemed the forgiving sort, especially since she hadn’t even pressed for an explanation. “Hardly anyone will know me.”

  “But they will, once you go. I’m sure there’ll be name tags. And you’ll meet Courtney Williams, the president of the Ladies’ Guild. She said she’d show you around.”

  Barry appeared out of nowhere and bounced on the edge of the mattress. “Feel that support? Come on, give it a try. Comes with a lifetime guarantee.” He gave a flashy grin. “Quality!”

  “Oh, we’re not really in the market for a new mattress,” Mark explained. “But if we were, this sure looks like a winner.”

  Barry beamed.

  Only Mark would take the time to soothe a furniture salesman’s ego.

  “If you don’t mind, Barry, we need to discuss our options.” Mark stroked Amanda’s shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

  Barry nodded knowingly. “You and the little lady talk it over, we’ll see what we can do.” He retreated behind the counter and stared. Lip-reading, no doubt.

  “Fine,” Amanda whispered. She didn’t see any way out of it. So far, she had avoided Sunday mornings entirely. Now she wished she’d gotten her feet wet before facing the masses by herself. “I’ll do it.”

  Heedless of Barry, Mark pulled her close. “You’re the best.”

  “No, I’m the worst,” she told his neck. “But I love you, so I’ll go.”

  Mark shook Barry’s hand in good-bye and the man looked close to tears as they left the store. “Zero percent financing, and that’s the best I can do!”

  AMANDA MUTTERED CURSES of regret through her teeth as she entered Lakeview Community Church. A pink sign, announcing today’s Getting to Know You Luncheon in the activity center, fluttered with the closing door.

  A small stage and fake green trees decorated the church’s activity center, aka gym. Gingham cloths and cutesy centerpieces adorned circular tables. Women’s chatter filled the area, high and low voices blended with various perfumes and tea light candles for a distinctly feminine mix.

  Amanda shuffled in, hoping to be unnoticed, and looked for a seat in the back. Not one woman stopped her. She must be as invisible as she felt.

  She’d battled anxiety that morning, trying to decide what to wear to an arm-twisting. She settled on her favorite black pants and a light blue sweater set. Thankfully, she hadn’t underdressed for the occasion. Most of the women wore stretchy pants and colorful tops.

  A quartet sang onstage. Two ladies sat on stools with their legs propped daintily on the rims, long floral skirts flowing to their pumps. The other two, wearing pantsuits, stood and made passionate hand movements, like gospel divas. They sang with eyes closed and full-throttle voices.

  It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Mark’s promise echoed in Amanda’s mind as she found the most remote corner possible. To her relief, she recognized a face. It went with a name tag. Missy Underwood. The pansy gardener.

  The woman’s eyes widened as Amanda approached. “Hello! Oh, you’re here. Come sit down … if you want. Everyone will be so happy to see you!”

  So happy they hadn’t stopped their conversations to make time for a quick hello? Or had they seen her? “Thank you.” Amanda hung her purse over a chair. “This seat’s not taken?”

  “Not at all. I try to sit in the back in case I have to slip out to feed the baby.”

  The baby. Emptiness blossomed in Amanda’s womb. Pain petals unfurled and snatched her breath away. She fought it, sucked in some air and forced herself to smile. “The baby?”

  “Taylor. He’s ten months old. And a hearty eater.” Missy unconsciously brushed her breasts as she spoke. “The nursery has to pull me from time to time ’cause he gets so ornery if I’m not there to feed him.”

  “Do you have other children?” Breathe deep. Be normal. This is normal, two women having a conversation about children.

  “Yes, a four-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy.”

  “You’re pretty busy, then.” Amanda parroted clichés, her mouth moving at random.

  “It’s not bad. I get to stay home with them, so that’s a blessing.” Missy fiddled with the sugar packets on the table as the quartet finished to enthusiastic applause.

  A tall blonde in fitted pants and heeled sandals grasped the microphone. “Good afternoon, ladies of Lakeview Community Church! For those of you who don’t know me, and I don’t think there are many, I’m Courtney Williams, your Ladies’ Guild president.” The women clapped politely. Courtney brushed her hair from her shoulder and let the applause continue before she spoke again.

  “We’ve got lots to talk about, starting with our fall activities. But before I get into that, I want to introduce you to a special guest of honor whom you might not have met yet. In fact, I’d begun to wonder if she existed at all! But I’m told she’s here and we’re glad to have her.”

  The burn started up toward Amanda’s face. She willed serenity, in spite of her
pounding heart. I am cool. I am calm. I am the pastor’s wife.

  “Amanda Reynolds—wife of our own precious Mark Reynolds!”

  Amanda Reynolds, come on down!

  Courtney peered into the shadows. “Amanda, would you stand up for me, please?”

  Amanda stood and waved to the women, who stared at her.

  “No, I need you to stand up!”

  Laughs all around. More unadulterated fun in the form of short jokes.

  “Y’all be sure and give her a hug after the program. Introduce yourselves and make her welcome. Now, for our announcements …”

  Having performed to expectations, Amanda tuned the speakers out and started in on her lunch. Thinking as soon as she finished, she could leave.

  Next to Amanda, Pam Hart, according to her marks-a-lot name tag, shifted forward in the plastic school chair. “So, Amanda. How do you like our fair town so far?” Pam chewed on a tortilla rolled with cream cheese and olives, and intermittently dipped it in a bowl of salsa. Double dipping.

  “I like it,” Amanda answered, almost honestly. Driving to the church this morning in her Toyota, the crisp breath of fall whipped through her open windows. The air cleansed, cut through her in a way that Houston breezes never did. She’d even turned on the radio and sang through her nervousness to the latest Alan Jackson coming through her tinny factory-edition speakers.

  It wasn’t until she hit the church’s parking lot that she wished, with overwhelming urgency, that she’d never agreed to come.

  Still, she must make an effort. Her cave’s darkness had covered her for so long. If she didn’t try, she’d stay inside forever. Baby steps.

  After all, she was here to get to know the women. That, and to try to consume dry chicken and lukewarm green beans without choking to death.

  “Tell me about your sweatshirt.” Amanda pointed to Pam’s brightly colored top.

  “Oh, my goodness! Can you believe that?” A hot sauce trail dribbled over the puff paint sweatshirt. Pam smacked it with a paper napkin. Paper balls peeled off the napkin to stick to the wet spot. “Not fifteen minutes into the meal.” Pam blushed her apology. “Such a mess.”

 

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