Out to Canaan (28 page)

“Buck!”

He heard Buck take a drag on his cigarette. “You talked to Emil.”

“I did, and we're thrilled.”

“You reckon I could get that cottage again?”

That dark, brooding cottage under the trees, where the finest construction superintendent on the East Coast had thrown furniture against the wall and smashed vodka bottles into the fireplace? He didn't think so.

“Let me look around. We'll take care of you.”

“Thanks,” Buck said, his voice sounding gruff.

And yet, there was something else in his voice, something just under the surface that the rector knew and understood. It was a kind of hope.

“Father. Ingrid Swenson.”

Dadgum it, and just when he was having a great day.

“Ingrid.”

“We're very close to getting everything in order. I'd like to
personally make a proposal to you and your committee on the fifteenth. I'm sure the timing will be good for Lord's Chapel.”

He didn't especially care for her almighty presumption about the timing.

“Let me get back to you,” he said.

“Father, it's Esther.” Esther Bolick didn't sound like herself. “This is th' most awful thing I ever got myself into . . . .”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I've never heard such bawlin' and squallin' and snipin' and fussin' in my life! I'm about sick of workin' with women, and church women in particular!”

“Aha.”

“Why I said I'd do it, I don't know. Th'
Bane!
Of all things to take on, and me sixty-seven my next birthday, can you believe it?” She sighed deeply. “I ought to be sent to Broughton.”

“Don't beat yourself up.”

“I don't have to, a whole gang of so-called church workers is thrilled to do it for me!”

“You want to come for a cup of coffee? Emma's home today. I'd love to hear more.”

“I don't have time to come for a cup of coffee, I don't have time to pee, excuse me, and Gene hadn't had a hot meal in I don't know when!”

Esther Bolick sounded close to tears. “So even if I can't come for a cup of coffee, I wish you'd do your good deed for the day and pray for me . . . .”

“I will. I pray for you, anyway.”

You
do
?”

“Of course. The Bane is a cornerstone event for Lord's Chapel, and you've taken on a big job. But you've got a big spirit, Esther, and you can do it. I know it's easy for me to say, but maybe you could stop looking at the big picture, which is always overwhelming, and just take it day by day.”

“Day by day is th' problem! Nearly every day, somebody dumps
something else in our garage, and mainly it's the worst old clothes and mildewed shoes you ever saw! Mitch Lewis backed his truck up to th' garage,
raked
out whatever it was in th' bed, and drove off. Gene said to me, he said, ‘Esther, what's that mound of
stuff
layin' in th' garage?' We couldn't even
identify
it.

“We need
toaster ovens,
we need
framed prints
and
floor lamps
and
plant stands
and such! This sale's got a
reputation
to maintain, but so far, I never saw so much polyester in my
life,
it looks like we'll
never
get rid of polyester, they won't even take it at th'
landfill
!”

He wished he could offer some of the contents of Fernbank, but Miss Sadie hadn't wanted her possessions picked over. One thing was for certain, he wouldn't donate those mildewed loafers from the back of his closet . . . .

“You know the good stuff always comes in,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “It never fails.”

“There's always a first time!” she said darkly.

“Let me ask you—are you praying about this, about the goods rolling in and your strength holding out?”

“I hope you don't think th'
Lord
would mess with the
Bane
?”

“I hope you don't think He wouldn't! Tell me again where the funds from the Bane will go.”

“Mission fields, as you well know, including a few in our own backyard.”

“Exactly! Some of the money will fly medical supplies to a village where people are dying of cholera. Do you think the Lord would mess with that?”

“Well . . .”

“Then there's the four-wheel drive ambulance they need in Landon,” he said. “Remember the blizzard we had three years ago?”

“That's when I had to call an ambulance for Gene, who nearly killed himself shoveling snow! I shouted for joy when I saw it turn the corner. If it hadn't been for that ambulance . . .”

“That winter, two children died of burns because nobody could get a vehicle into the coves around Landon.”

“I think I know where you're headed with this,” she said.

“I don't believe He'll let Esther Bolick—or the Bane—fail.”

“Maybe I could ask Hessie Mayhew to help me out, even if she is Presbyterian!” Esther was sounding more like herself.

“I believe it's going to be the best Bane yet. Now, about your volunteers—my guess is, they're moaning and groaning because they need strong leadership, which is why they elected you in the first place! Look,” he said, “I have an idea. Why don't I pray for you? Right now.”

“On the
phone?”

“It's as good a place as any. Try taking a deep breath.”

“Lately, it's all I can do to get a deep breath.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I didn't know men ever had trouble gettin' their breath.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Standin' up at the kitchen phone, which is where I've been ever since I let myself get roped into this.”

“Could you get a chair?”

He heard her drag a kitchen chair from the table, and sit down.

“OK,” she said, feeling brighter. “But don't go on and on 'til th' cows come home.”

“Fernbank or bust!” cried Cynthia, huffing up Old Church Lane.

“It's only taken us a full year to do this.”

“And it's all sitting right there, just as you left it.”

He realized why he had put this off, over and over again. He had ducked into Fernbank a few times to check the roof leaks, and ducked out again as if pursued. To see those empty, silent rooms meant she was gone, utterly and eternally, and even now he could hardly bear the fact of it.

“This must be a hard time for Louella, the anniversary of—”

“I'll see her tomorrow,” he said, doing some huffing of his own. “Let's have her down to dinner.”

“I love that idea. Maybe sometime next week? Oh, for a taste of her fried chicken!”

“We'll have to settle for a taste of my meat loaf . . . .”

They were up to the brow of the hill and turning into the driveway, which was overhung by a thicket of grapevines gone wild. Though Fernbank hadn't been well groomed since the forties, it had still looked imposing and proud during Miss Sadie's lifetime. Now . . .

He saw the house, surrounded by a neglected lawn, and felt the dull beating of his heart.

“Let's buy it!” he croaked. Good Lord! What had he said?

She looked astounded. “Timothy, you don't need a domestic retreat, you need 911. How could you even
think
such a thing?”

And why couldn't he think such a thing? Didn't a man have a right to his own mind?

He felt suddenly peevish and disgruntled and wanted to turn around and run home, but he remembered Andrew Gregory was meeting them on the porch in ten minutes.

Andrew stood in the middle of the parlor and looked up.

That's what everyone did, thought the rector—they stared at the water stains like they were some kind of ominous cloud above their heads. Why couldn't people see the dentil molding, the millwork . . .

“Beautiful millwork!” said Andrew. “I've been here only once before, the day of the wedding reception. I was enchanted by the attention to detail. It's a privilege to see Fernbank again.”

“Would you like to see it, stem to stern?”

“Stem to stern!” said Andrew, looking enthused.