A Light in the Window (44 page)

The statue of Willard, which he saw at the sculptor’s studio in Wesley, was precisely as the mayor had said—the head was too big. He would never have spoken up if it hadn’t been for the fact that Miss Sadie would pass the statue every time she went to shop at The Local.

“The head... is too large,” he said in what came out as his pulpit voice. He didn’t like to pass judgment on a work of art, which was clearly a subjective matter.

The sculptor walked slowly around the clay model as the rector stared at the floor.

“You’re right, of course,” said the sculptor.

There! What if he hadn’t spoken? The size of Willard’s head would have rivaled that of a Canadian bull moose. Miss Sadie would have been so disgusted with the whole thing that she would have done her food shopping on the highway, where making a left turn into Cloer’s Market would be plain suicide—if she didn’t die from eating their produce.

Uncle Billy had gone with him to Wesley but didn’t say a word in the artist’s studio. On the sidewalk, he took the rector’s hand and shook it soberly.

“Rose’ll be proud that you’re lookin’ after things, Preacher. I’ll be et f’r a tater if that statue didn’t look like a feller with a washtub settin’ on his shoulders.”

“What did you think,” he asked Emma, “of the wedding on Sunday?” As for himself, he thought it fine and beautiful, and it had been grand to see his old parishioners and their daughter, who, though now living in Virginia, still considered Lord’s Chapel their home church.

“Did you see that lizard pocketbook sittin’ on that little shelf to the left of the altar?”

“Lizard pocketbook?”

“Stuck up there next to th’ holy family like a sore thumb. Must’ve been left there by somebody doin’ the flowers. I could not believe my eyes.”

“But there was so much else for the believing eye. Sixteen in the wedding party—beautiful young women, handsome young men—and all glowing like so many candles.”

“Just stickin’ up there like a crow on a limb...”

“The trumpet voluntary was outstanding, every bit as good as some recordings I’ve heard. And the flowers—absolutely the most glorious flowers ever to grace Lord’s Chapel, don’t you agree?”

“It seems to me the flower people would have stepped back and taken a good look at the whole caboodle before they went rushin’ out the door. If they’d done their job, they would have seen a lizard pocketbook sittin’ on the shelf.”

“The retable never looked more magnificent...”

“It’s not even the
season
for lizard!”

“Emma, Emma, Emma.” What else could he say?

He’d forgotten to take the brooch to the jeweler when he went to Wesley yesterday. He would take it today and pay a visit to the Children’s Hospital while he was there.

Remembering that he’d seen a pink ribbon among his mother’s things, he got on his knees and fished the box from under the bed. He rolled the ribbon up and put it in his jacket pocket and went to his chest of drawers to collect the brooch.

But it wasn’t there.

“It was up there when I dusted,” said Puny. “In that little velvet bag.”

“Maybe I put it in my coat pocket when I went to Wesley to see the sculptor. What jacket did I wear?”

“Beats me. Try th’ blue.”

“That’s the trouble with having too many clothes,” he said sharply. He could remember a year or so ago when he had only two jackets. Now he had five.

Would he have put it in his pants pocket? But those pants went to the cleaners this very morning. Every other Wednesday, Puny Bradshaw bundled up the clothes he had been wearing and, whether they needed it or not, sent them to be cleaned. He argued that the English almost never have their clothing dry-cleaned, and she argued that not only was he not English, but sometimes he sweated, so that was the end of it.

He called the cleaners and begged them to go through his pants pockets the moment the truck drove in. To take his mind off a creeping anxiety, he went through all his suits and jackets, including those he wasn’t currently wearing.

If Cynthia had once put her hat in the freezer and a quart of ice cream on the bed, who knows what he might have done while his mind was elsewhere—which it usually was these days.

When Evie Adams called the office at ten, he found himself wishing for a curate, a deacon, anybody. He had two meetings today, recklessly scheduled so as to disallow lunch, a hurried trip to Wesley that included buying two shirts and some poster paper for Dooley, and a visit to the Hope House site to see the progress they’d made in only a few days of good weather. Needless to say, there was plenty of work that needed doing on his sermon.

Evie wanted to know if he could come by as soon as possible, and this time he didn’t ask what Miss Pattie had done now. He only wished again for help and then suddenly realized he was wishing for Cynthia. Cynthia would know what to do; she would take care of it and leave Evie with new hope in her heart.

Cynthia could fix things without even trying.

Cynthia could eat the drumstick, and he could not. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to eat the drumstick.

His feeling of panic had passed once before; it would pass again, he told himself. He must go forward on faith, not feeling.

He remembered, too, what Emily Dickinson had said: “The truth must dazzle gradually, or evermore be blind.” After the trauma of being asked to go steady, hadn’t he settled down and gotten used to the idea? Hadn’t he been dazzled, after all, and hadn’t it been gradual?

Well, then. He would put his mind to other issues, one of which was sobering in its own right.

No, he could not send Dooley away to school, because, Walter said, he was not Dooley’s legal guardian. His heart had leapt up when he heard that.

“However,” his cousin advised, “his grandfather can do it. Even though Russell isn’t the boy’s legal guardian, he is closest of kin, and it can be done on the basis of his verbal consent. It wouldn’t hurt to have it in writing, of course.”

Getting Russell to go along with such an idea would be one thing. Explaining it to Dooley would be another. And how would the boy fare among affluent kids who had probably never heard the word “ain’t” in their lives and who thought “poop” was the latest news in the school paper?

Could he handle the English compositions, the algebra, the science? He felt sure of the algebra, with a little coaching, but the rest of it ...

On the other hand, he could easily see Dooley scrubbed up and wearing a navy blazer—yes, indeed. And singing in some school chorale and surprising himself on the ball field.

“Be good for him,” he said, pumping up for the task.

He called Meadowgate Farm and asked Marge to pray for this crucial thing.

“Ah, Tim. Isn’t plain love more valuable than fancy education? But of course, we must let him go, mustn’t we?”

“I think so, yes. Such opportunities are once in a lifetime. We’re talking twenty thousand a year, here. Certainly nothing I could easily fork over, and clearly, no one else will offer to do it. Sadie Baxter is an angel with wings, a harp, a halo...”

“The works!”

He called Cynthia to discuss the school issue. He saw no reason to mention her last note, which boldly stated that he was not up to loving. Perhaps she was right, but he would forge ahead. Faith, not feeling!

“What are you up to today?”

“Taking Miss Addison to lunch at my café. She’s never been to a café! She says she wants to drink strong coffee out of a mug and eat something hearty like a plowman’s lunch. Why, she’s never drunk out of anything less than Baccarat and Sevres in her life!”

“There you are, being a grand influence on yet another neighbor.”

“Have I ... been a grand influence, Timothy?”

“More than I can say.” He felt a lump in his throat, for no earthly reason. “I needed your help yesterday.”

“You did?” She sounded as if he’d told her some wonderful news.

“Evie Adams called and I went over, but my heart wasn’t in it. I thought how you would have made things seem all right.”

“But of course, they aren’t all right.”

“No. And won’t be until Hope House is built.”

“Do you think it’s important to make things seem all right when they aren’t?”

“Not always. But in this case, yes, very important.”

She was silent for a moment.

He decided not to mention the brooch. It would turn up. Even if the cleaners couldn’t find it, it would turn up.