The Mitford Bedside Companion

by Jan Karon

Glorious in His faithfulness.

  Dooley thought Father’s Tim’s voice carried loud and clear from where he stood with the bishop and Walter at the rail. The bishop was decked out in a really weird hat, but looked cool as anything otherwise. As for Father Tim, he’d never seen him in a tuxedo before and thought he looked…different, maybe sort of handsome.

  The tremor in his stomach subsided; he felt suddenly tall and victorious and forgot about having to go to the toilet.

  Hessie Mayhew gazed at Stuart Cullen, whom she found exceedingly good-looking, and thought it was a darned good thing that Episcopal clergy were allowed to marry, otherwise it could cause a rumpus. She’d never chased after clergy like some women she knew, but she couldn’t dismiss their powerful attraction, either. Anyway, who’d want to tie the knot with a preacher and end up with a whole churchful of people pulling you to pieces day and night? Head this, chair that! No, indeed, no clergy for her, thank you very much.

  She fluffed her scarf over the odd rash that had appeared on her neck, dismissing it as one of the several hazards of her calling, and hoped the bishop was noticing the flowers and that someone would tell him about Hessie Mayhew, who, even if she was Presbyterian, knew a thing or two about the right and proper way to beautify a church.

  Angels, help us to adore Him;

  Ye behold Him face to face;

  Sun and moon, bow down before Him,

  Dwellers in all time and space.

  Alleluia, alleluia!

  Praise with us the God of grace.

  Jenna Ivey could not carry a tune in a bucket and preferred to look at the stained-glass window for the duration of the processional hymn. The window was of Christ being baptized while John the Baptist stood onshore in his animal skin outfit. It seemed to her that St. John could have presented himself better, seeing it was the Lord Jesus who was getting baptized; like it wasn’t as if St. John didn’t know He was coming, for Pete’s sake. Look at the three wise men, who always appeared nicely groomed, though they’d been riding camels for two years.

  She was startled by the sound of the trumpet only a few feet away, causing, simultaneously, an outbreak of goose bumps and a wild pounding of her heart.

  Then, suddenly, there was the matron of honor charging down the aisle; Jenna didn’t have a clue who this woman might be, she was tall as a giraffe. That’s the way it was with weddings, they turned out people you’d never seen before in your life and would never see again.

  Emma thought the matron of honor blew past like she was going to a fire, canceling any opportunity to study the skimpy cut of Katherine Kavanagh’s suit, or to check out the kind of shoes she had on. She did, however, get a whiff of something that wasn’t flowers, it was definitely perfume, possibly from Macy’s or some such.

  Then came Rebecca Jane Owen and Amy Larkin, wearing velvet hair bows the color of green Baxter apples. As far as Emma could tell, they were fairly smothered with flowers; you’d think Hessie Mayhew would scale down for children, but oh, no, Hessie scaled up, these two infants were fairly tottering under the weight of what looked like full bushes of hydrangeas.

  Jabbing Harold to do the same, Emma swiveled her head to see the bride trotting behind the small entourage.

  Cynthia Coppersmith was flushed as a girl—her eyes shining, her face expectant, her hair curled damply around her face as if she’d just won a game of tag. Emma thought she looked sixteen years old if she was a day, and her suit was exactly the color of a crayon Emma had favored in first grade, aquamarine. She appeared to be moving fast, but that was all right—hadn’t she herself run lickety-split to marry Harold Newland, starved to death for affection after ten years of widowhood and thrilled at the prospect of someone to hug her neck every night?

  Emma leaned over the arm of the pew so she could see Father Tim as his bride approached the altar. The look on his face made her want to shut her eyes, as if she’d intruded upon something terribly precious and private.

  “Dearly beloved, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by His presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and His Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people.

  “The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord. Therefore marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.

  “Into this holy union, Cynthia Clary Coppersmith and Timothy Andrew Kavanagh now come to be joined….”

  Uncle Billy Watson hoped and prayed his wife would not fall asleep and snore; it was all he could do to keep his own eyes open. Sitting with so many people in a close church on a close afternoon was nearabout more than a man could handle. He kept alert by asking himself a simple question: When it came time, would he have mustard on his ham, or eat it plain?

  “Cynthia, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

  Winnie Ivey clasped her hand over her heart and felt tears burn her cheeks. To think that God would give this joy to people as old as herself and no spring chickens…

  The bride’s vow was heard clearly throughout the nave. “I will!”

  “Timothy, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

  “I will!”

  “Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?”

  “We will!”

  At the congregational response, Dooley Barlowe quickly left the front pew by the sacristy door and took his place in front of the altar rail. As he faced the cross and bowed, one knee trembled slightly, but he locked it in place and drew a deep breath.

  Don’t let me mess up, he prayed, then opened his mouth and began to sing.

  Oh, perfect Love, all human thought transcending,

  Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne,

  That theirs may be the love which knows no ending,

  Whom Thou forevermore dost join in one.

  It all sounded lovey-dovey, thought Emma, but she knew one thing—it would never work if Cynthia sat around drawing cats while her husband wanted his dinner! Oh, Lord, she was doing it again, and this time without intending to; she was running down a person who didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She closed her eyes and asked forgiveness.

  She’d held on to her reservations about Cynthia like a tightwad squeezes a dollar, but she felt something in her heart finally giving way as if floodgates were opening, and she knew at last that she honestly approved of the union that would bind her priest’s heart for all eternity. Disgusted with herself for having forgotten to bring a proper handkerchief, Emma mopped her eyes with a balled-up napkin from Pizza Hut.

  Oh, perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance

  Of tender charity and steadfast faith,

  Of patient hope and quiet, brave endurance,

  With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

  Pete Jamison pondered the words “childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death,” and knew that’s what he’d been given the day he’d cried out to God in this place and God had answered by sending Father Kavanagh. He remembered distinctly what the father had said: “You may be asking the wrong question. What you m
ay want to ask is, Are You down here?”

  He’d prayed a prayer that day with the father, a simple thing, and was transformed forever, able now to stand in this place knowing without any doubt at all that, yes, God is down here and faithfully with us. He remembered the prayer as if he’d uttered it only yesterday. Thank you, God, for loving me, and for sending Your son to die for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins, and receive Christ as my personal savior. Now, as Your child, I turn my entire life over to You. He’d never been one to surrender anything, yet that day, he had surrendered everything. When the church was quiet and the celebration over, he’d go down front and kneel in the same place he’d knelt before, and give thanks.

  Gene Bolick wondered how a man Father Tim’s age would be able to keep up his husbandly duties. As for himself, all he wanted to do at night was hit his recliner after supper and sleep ’til bedtime. Maybe the father knew something he didn’t know….

  Louella heard people all around her sniffling and blowing their noses, it was a regular free-for-all. And Miss Sadie, she was the worst of the whole kaboodle, bawling into her mama’s handkerchief to beat the band. Miss Sadie loved that little redheaded, freckle-face white boy because he reminded her of Willard Porter, who came up hard like Dooley and ended up amounting to something.

  Louella thought Miss Cynthia looked beautiful in her dressy suit; and that little bit of shimmering thread in the fabric and those jeweled buttons, now, that was something, that was nice, and look there, she wasn’t wearing shoes dyed to match, she was wearing black pumps as smart as you please. Louella knew from reading the magazines Miss Olivia brought to Fernbank that shoes dyed to match were out of style.

  It seemed to her that the sniffling was getting worse by the minute, and no wonder—just listen to that boy sing! Louella settled back in the pew, personally proud of Dooley, Miss Cynthia, the father, and the whole shooting match.

  Finally deciding on mustard, Uncle Billy abandoned the game. He’d better come up with another way to noodle his noggin or he’d drop off in a sleep so deep they’d have to knock him upside the head with a two-by-four. He determined to mentally practice his main joke, and if that didn’t work, he was done for.

  Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow,

  Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife,

  And to life’s day the glorious unknown morrow

  That dawns upon eternal love and life.

  Amen.

  Dooley returned to his pew without feeling the floor beneath his feet. He was surprised to find he was trembling, as if he’d been live-wired. But it wasn’t fear, anymore, it was…something else.

  Father Tim took Cynthia’s right hand in his, and carefully spoke the words he had never imagined might be his own.

  “In the name of God, I, Timothy, take you, Cynthia, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.

  “This is my solemn vow.”

  They loosed their hands for a moment, a slight movement that caused the candle flames on the altar to tremble. Then she took his right hand in hers.

  “In the name of God, I, Cynthia, take you, Timothy, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.

  “This is my solemn vow.”

  As Walter presented the ring to the groom, the bishop raised his right hand. “Bless, O Lord, these rings to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”

  “Cynthia, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

  She felt the worn gold ring slipping on her finger; it seemed weightless, a band of silk.

  Katherine stepped forward then, delivering the heavy gold band with the minuscule engraving upon its inner circle: Until heaven and then forever.

  “Timothy…I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

  Hessie Mayhew was convinced the bishop looked right into her eyes as he spoke.

  “Now that Cynthia and Timothy have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

  “Those whom God has joined together…let no man put asunder.”

  Dooley felt the lingering warmth in his face and ears, and heard the pounding of his heart. No, it wasn’t fear anymore, it was something else, and he thought he knew what it was.

  It was something maybe like…happiness.

  A Common Life, Ch. 9

  A Christmas Eve Party at the Main Street Grill

  “Surpri-i-ise!”

  “Here we come, ready or not!”

  A Mitford crowd always arrived early, and today was no exception.

  “Merry Christmas!”

  “Surprise! Surprise!”

  * * *

  Pass It On

  My grandmother, Miss Fannie, passed on her lovely old spinning wheel to me.

  She also passed on her mother’s large black comb, her grandfather’s homemade wedding band, and boxes of her own stylish hats.

  Though precious, all these things are but things. Her most important legacy was the example of her shining faith in God, made known through Jesus Christ.

  Her faith was frequently expressed in the stories she told.

  For example, when Mama was in her nineties, she woke up one morning completely blind in her left eye. As she was being examined by the eye doctor, who didn’t offer any especially good news, she told me she had a sudden and wonderful revelation.

  “God can do it!” she blurted to the ophthalmologist.

  She believed without any doubt that God could restore sight to her eye—which, of course, He soon did.

  She told this seemingly simple story again and again, which encouraged my own faith. Which reminds me of a wise and gentle exhortation from Deuteronomy:

  Be very careful never to forget what you have seen the Lord do for you. Do not let these things escape from your mind as long as you live! And be sure to pass them on to your children and grandchildren.

  —Deuteronomy 4:9

  * * *

  “We ain’t hardly got th’ dishes washed,” said Percy, drying his hands on his apron.

  “Take that apron off, it’s party time!” Lois Holshouser, who was retired from teaching drama at Wesley High and wanted more fun in her life, untied Percy’s apron and flung it over the counter where it landed on a cake box.

  “Surprise!” yelled an arriving partygoer.

  “It ain’t a su’prise,” said Percy, who was tired of hearing that it was.

  “How come?” asked Mule. “We told people not to leak it to a livin’ soul.”

  Velma, who had obviously spent the better part of the morning at Fancy Skinner’s, peered over her glasses. “Blabbermouth Bradshaw let th’ cat out of th’ bag.”

  “Why is this blasted coffeepot leaking water all over the burner?” asked Father Tim. “Mule! Can you step over here and take a look at this?”

  “I’m cuttin’ cake, buddyroe. Ask Percy.”

  “Percy’s worked this counter for forty years. I’m giving him a break.”

  “Suit yourself, it’s runnin’ down on th’ floor.”

  Blast! He flipped the switch to “Off.”

  Ray Cunningham helped himself to a counter stool. “I hear coffee’s on th’ house! I’ll have a little shooter, and one for your former mayor here.”

  “Ray, good to see you!” said Father Tim. “Esther, do you know how to work this blasted coffee maker?”
Their former mayor could fix anything, including people’s lives.

  “Let me get back there,” said Esther. “I’ll handle this.”

  Mitford’s former mayor had the coffeepot up and running and was pouring and serving as if she were campaigning for office. “Percy, you ol’ coot, where’m I supposed to get a decent bowl of grits for breakfast?”

  “Beats me,” said Percy. “An’ don’t count on gettin’ grits in Wesley, they’re educated over there at th’ college an’ don’t eat grits.”

  People were clearly happy to see their former mayor back in the thick of things, especially as their current mayor had been called to a social event at the governor’s mansion.

  “Congratulations, you dog!” Omer Cunningham, aviator, bon vivant, and in-law of former mayor Esther Cunningham, waded through the crowd, his big teeth gleaming like a piano keyboard. “Where are you an’ Velma headed off to?” Omer gave Percy a slap on the back that nearly knocked him into the drink box.

  “After gettin’ up at four o’clock every mornin’ for a hundred years, I’m headed off t’ lay down an’ sleep ’til Groundhog Day. Velma, she’s headed off to th’ pet shelter for a dadblame cat.”

  “Don’t get a cat, get a dog!” someone urged.

  “Don’t get a dog, get a monkey!”

  “Don’t get nothin’,” counseled the fire chief. “Animals strap you down—get somethin’ with four legs an’ you’ll never see th’ cherry blossoms, trust me.”

  Percy eyed the room—the booths and stools had filled up and there was standing room only. Where were these turkeys when business had gone south a couple of times last summer?

  “Speech! Speech!” someone hollered from the rear.

  “Hold it!” J. C. Hogan blew in the front door, ushering a blast of arctic air into the assembly. “Make way for the press!”

  “Oh, law,” whispered Minnie Lomax, “it’s J. C. Hogan—he wants to be th’ bride at every weddin’ and th’ corpse at every funeral.”