Out to Canaan (223 page)

Harley nodded, looking sober.

“Don't let him talk you into anything you don't think is right . . .”

“Yes, sir.”

“ . . . or safe. Especially safe!”

“No, sir, I wouldn't.”

The rector sighed and moved closer to Harley's oscillating fan.

“Now, don't you worry, Rev'rend. I'll watch after 'im like m' own young 'un.”

“I know you will.”

“Hit'll work some of th' juice out of 'im.”

“Right.”

“While I've got a educated man settin' here, I'd be beholden if you'd give me a little help with m' homework an' all.”

“Your homework?”

“Lace has it in 'er head t' educate me, she's givin' me a test in a day or two.”

“How do you feel about getting educated?”

“I've a good mind t' quit, but she's got 'er heart set on learnin' me somethin'. Lace has had a good bit of hard knocks, I don't want t' let 'er down.”

“That's right. How can I help you?”

“Well, looky here. Sixty seventh-grade students toured th' Statue of Liberty in New York City. Two-thirds of 'em climbed to th' halfway point, and one-fourth of 'em was able t' climb all th' way to th' top. Now, th' remainin' group, they stayed down on th' base of th' pedestal, it says here. How many students didn't climb th' steps? I can't figger it t' save m' neck.”

The rector mopped his brow. “Oh, boy.”

“Here's another'n, this 'uns easier. The torch of th' Statue of Liberty is three hundred an' five foot from th' bottom of th' base. If th' pedestal on which th' statue rests is eighty-nine foot high, how high is th' base?”

“Let me go get a drink of water and I'll come back and see what I can do.”

As he drank a glass of water at Harley's kitchen sink, he heard him muttering in the next room, “Elton washes winders at a office buildin'. Some offices has four winders and some has six . . .”

How did he get himself into these scrapes, anyway?

He kissed the nape of her neck, just under the ponytail she'd lately taken to sporting.

“Is there anything special you'd like to do for your birthday?” Please, Lord, don't let her say a domestic retreat. I don't have time, she doesn't have time, it can't happen.

She sighed. “We're both exhausted, dearest. Let's don't do any fancy dinners or tangos, let's get Chinese take-out from Wesley, lock our bedroom door, and just
be.
”

And what would their teeming household think about such a thing? Oh, well.

“I can handle that,” he said, drawing her close.

“Ron, was there ever any discussion with Miami Development about Fernbank's apple orchard? There are a hundred and sixty-two trees up there, and all are still bearing.”

“She mentioned the orchard the first time she was here. They'd tear it out. That's where most of the cottages will be built.”

A small point, but it stung him. Those trees had dropped their fruit into any hand that passed, for years. They had filled Mitford's freezers with pies and cobblers, and crowded endless pantry shelves with sauce and jelly.

An even smaller point, perhaps, but he noticed that Ron had said “
will
be built.”

A new day-care program was getting under way at Lord's Chapel as Buck Leeper's crew began their invasion of the attic.

Given that the only access to the attic was through the trapdoor over the pulpit, merely getting into the attic was a project.

Under Buck's supervision, the crew removed stones from the east wall, cut through studs, sheeting, and insulation, installed a new header and a sill, and created a double-door entrance. Until the outside steps could be built, ladders and scaffolding permitted the crew to haul up endless feet of lumber for classroom partitions and a restroom.

It was all going forward exactly as he expected: his very hair, what was left of it, was filled with a fine dust, as were the pews and all that lay below. Kneelers got their share, so that when parishioners wearing black arose from prayer, the fronts of skirts and trousers displayed a clear mark of piety.

Anybody else, he thought, would have retired and left the attic project to the next poor fellow, but he had celebrated and preached beneath the vast, empty loft for sixteen years, dreaming of the day they could fill it with children.

Yes, there'd be the patter of little feet above the heads of the
congregation, though measures would be taken to muffle the sound considerably. In any case, it was a sound he'd be glad to hear.

Puny met him at the front door with Sissy on one hip and Sassy on the other.

“Father, I jis' don't think I can keep bringin' th' girls to work with me, even though I know how much it means to you to have 'em here.” She looked unusually distressed.

He took Sissy and walked down the hall behind his house help.

“Ba!” said the happy twin, bashing him on the head with a plastic frying pan. “Ba!”

“That's what she calls you, did you know that?”

“Really?”

“That's your name. When I show her your wedding picture at home, she always says Ba!”

He felt honored. Ba! He'd never had another name before, except Father.

He sat down at the kitchen table and took a twin on either knee, which he immediately geared to the jiggling mode. “I know it's hard for you trying to work with two little ones . . . .”

“I cain't hardly get my work done anymore, but I hated to put 'em out to day care, they'll only be babies once, and I didn't want . . .” Puny looked close to tears. “I didn't want to miss that!”

“Of course not! I know it's a strain for you, but we'll work with you on it. We're pleased with all you do, Puny. You're the best, and always have been.”

Her face brightened. He loved the look of the red-haired, freckle-faced Puny Guthrie, who was like blood kin, the closest thing to a daughter he'd ever have. Besides, who else would clean the mildew off his shoes, wipe
behind
the picture frames, mend his shirts, bake cornbread deserving of a blue ribbon, and keep the clothes closets looking like racks at a department store? What she was able to do, even with two toddlers in tow, was more than anyone else
would
do, he was sure of it.

“The church day care will be open next week. Hang on, and if
you'd like to put them in for a day or two to see how it goes, well . . .”

“Thank you, Father! You're a wonderful granpaw. Would you mind holdin' 'em a minute while I run up and bring th' laundry down?”

“Mama, Mama!” yelled Sassy.

“Ba!” sighed Sissy, snuggling against him.

He nuzzled the two heads of tousled hair and thought that, all things considered, he was a very fortunate man. He needed challenges in his life . . . But wait a minute, did he need that warm, wet feeling spreading over his left knee?

He had showered, she had bathed in a tubful of scented bubbles; she had laid out his clean robe, he had plumped up the pillows behind her head; they had devoured their chicken with almonds, shrimp with lobster sauce, and two spring rolls.

“What's your fortune?” she asked, looking discontented with her own.

“I will uncover a surprise and receive great recognition.”

“Poop, darling, you're always receiving great recognition. Everyone loves you, it's like being married to the Pope. Here's mine. ‘Prepare for victory ahead!' Who writes this stuff?”

“Now,” he urged.

“OK!”

“Close your eyes.”

“I love this part,” she said, putting her hands over her eyes. “Don't you want me to guess?”

“Absolutely not. We're going straight to the punch line.”

He trotted to the closet, retrieved the box which Marcie had wrapped in the signature brown paper of Oxford Antiques, and thumped it on the bed next to his wife.

“OK. You can look.”

“A box! I love boxes!”

“Heave to, Kavanagh.”

She tore the raffia bow off, and the paper, and pulled back the tape on top of the box.

He helped remove the writing desk and set it on her lap.