A Light in the Window (69 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: A Light in the Window
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He was on his way to the Grill for lunch when he remembered there was no Grill.
He fled his office anyway.
At the door of the Oxford Antique Shop, Andrew Gregory was sitting on an early-eighteenth-century bench next to a late-nineteenth-century urn from Sussex.
“Father! Turn in and visit.”
“And add another antique to the jumble?”
The handsome Andrew threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve been waiting for you to come along. I have a glorious art book you’d like to see.”
“I’d do well to replace lunch with a feast for the eyes.”
“You’re looking terrific, actually. In fact, I hear that ...” Andrew paused discreetly.
“Yes?”
“... you and your neighbor may be getting married.”
“I’ve heard that very rumor myself. You know how small towns are.”
“I’m afraid I do. In any case, if it were true, I wanted to say you’re a very lucky man.”
He smiled and nodded. “If it were true, I’d have to agree.”
“Have a cup of minestrone with me. I fumbled around and made it from a family recipe. You can sit by the window at my prize Georgian dining table and have a go at the book.”
How could he refuse?
As the warm June sunlight streamed through the windows of the Oxford, he sat at the mahogany table, contentedly turning the pages of a book on early religious art, unmindful of time.
It was another volume, however, that captured his attention. In a stack of books on one of the dining chairs, he found it.
It was a glorious celebration of the chambered nautilus, from medieval times to the turn of the century. Brilliant scientific drawings and artists’ renderings sought to capture the mysterious beauty of the handsomest denizen of the mollusk kingdom.
Excited, he paid Andrew and went on his way, refreshed.
Sixty dollars for lunch! Ah well, he thought,
tempo è denaro,
whatever that meant.
Tommy would be home from the hospital around the time Louise Appleshaw began her afternoon tutoring sessions. That would relieve them of the drive to Wesley and allow Dooley a quick visit to Tommy’s house between Miss Appleshaw and dinner.
Dooley felt called to minister to his friend, cheer him on, and tough it out by his side. He was even giving a hand with some light schoolwork. Seeing Tommy’s alarming brush with death and feeling the guilt of helping it happen had made Dooley more reflective, less hostile.
Clearly, Tommy’s leg was good for Dooley’s heart.
He had to miss Louise Appleshaw’s first visit because of a three o’clock funeral. Thankfully, her first visit did not stipulate dinner.
When he came home, he found the boy sitting at the study desk, facing a tangle of books and papers and looking disconsolate.
“How’d it go?”
“I’m about t’ gag,” said Dooley.
“Well, hang in there.”
“Have you seen ’er?”
“Who?”
“That ol’ teacher that come in here t’day and messed up my mind.”
“I have not seen her. We spoke on the phone.”
“Here’s her picture,” said Dooley, who grabbed a felt-tipped pen and angrily drew a long face, a pointed nose, a furrowed brow, and a slash for a mouth.
“That looks like a witch,” he said, laughing.
“You got that right.”
“Dooley, for Pete’s sake, loosen up and learn something new. If you’re going to get ahead in this world, you’ve got to speak and write the King’s English. It’s that simple.” Blast it, he’d already fought this battle.
“I don’t want t’ go t’ that ol’ school, no way.”
“Anyway! And stop making up your mind ahead of the facts. We’re going next week to visit Elmhurst, right after Puny’s wedding.”
“I don’t want t’ go t’ no mushy weddin’, either.”
“Go see Tommy,” he snapped, “and get back in time for dinner. While you’re at it, work on your attitude.”
He watched Dooley walk across the backyard and through the hedge to Baxter Park. The little creep, he thought. I love him better every day.
It was amazing. Louise Appleshaw looked exactly like Dooley’s drawing. He would have recognized her anywhere.
She looked so stern he thought he’d warm up the introduction. “Louise ...” he said, extending his hand.
“I don’t believe you should call me by my Christian name.”
“Of course ...”
“We wouldn’t want your parishioners to talk, since we’re both unmarried and thrown together in the intimacy of the home environment.”
He felt a positive wrench in his stomach. What was worse, he had to make dinner for this person.
“I got a stomach cramp,” said Dooley, whose eyes looked bloodshot.
“Me, too,” said the rector. They were still sitting in the kitchen, unable to move since Louise Appleshaw had risen from the table and insisted on seeing herself to the door.
“I hate ’at ol’ bat.”
“Let me ask you something,” he said wearily. “Can you say ‘I hate that old bat’? Try it, just like I said it.”
“I hate that old bat.”
“Well done. Who needs a tutor?”
Dooley looked mournful.
“Tell me you’re not going to the hardware store.”
“I ain’t goin’ to th’ hardware store.”
“Wrong.”
“I’m not going to the hardware store,” said Dooley.
“Right.”
“Why don’t you teach me?”
“You don’t need teaching as much as you need to shape up and get conscious of the problem. Think before you speak, and you can improve yourself.”
“Lots of people say ain’t.”
“Never mind.” He was exhausted. And since Louise Appleshaw was allergic to anything with barley, oats, raisins, nuts, pineapple, white flour, sugar, cow’s milk, carob, chocolate, dates, leeks, cabbage, lima beans, beef, pork, and tomatoes, what in the name of heaven was he going to do about dinner on Friday?
He had a word of wisdom so full of meaning that he called the boy on the phone.
“Think of it this way. If you put your head down and give it all you’ve got, it’ll be over before you know it. If you let it get to you, you’ll suffer, I’ll suffer, Barnabas will suffer. What’s the point?”
Dooley was silent, thinking. He had learned when his silences were thoughtful, when they were hostile, and when they were mindless.
“This hurts me worse than it hurts you, pal. I’ve got to do the cooking. What should we feed her tonight?”
“Rat tonsils, snake bellies, and frog puke.”
“OK, that’s her menu. What about ours?”
Dooley laughed. Bingo! “Hamburgers all the way and french fries.”
“Deal,” he said.
No, there was not another English tutor around, except for a student at Wesley college, who, according to one report, was tattooed all over.
He might as well swallow his own advice:
Put your head down, Timothy, and give it all you’ve got.
The wedding gifts arrived, wrapped in the signature blue paper and simple white ribbon. One detail down and two hundred to go, he thought, taking his dark suit from the closet. He’d lost so much weight since those heedless days before the big D ...

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