A Rhinestone Button (6 page)

Job reached for Ed’s lap to stroke the duck’s head but yanked his hand back when the bird lunged for him. “I don’t think she’s fat,” he said.

“She’s got thick ankles,” said Penny. “And she dresses weird.” Liv wore ankle-length skirts with sandals in summer, army boots in winter, when the other women wore jeans and sweatshirts adorned with pictures of cats and horses or
dressed for Sunday in frocks from Kmart. She’d let her hair grow to her bum, dyed it red with henna, kept it in a thick braid for work and wore dangling earrings so heavy they stretched the holes in her earlobes. Stinky Steinke called her a hippie.

Penny crossed her arms. “She’s always got scruffy kids hanging around her place.”

“They’re visiting her son, Jason,” said Ed. “And she volunteers for that crisis line, helps kids out. I like her. I’d say go for it, Job.”

Job glanced at Penny. “Nah, she’s damaged goods,” he said, and realized at once this was something his father had said of a woman with a history, something he disliked his father for.

Jerry snorted, shook his head. “I guess going to the bar is out.”

Job didn’t bother answering. The few woman who set foot in the Godsfinger Bar and Grill: sixty-year-old, chain-smoking Beulah, who filed her nails to a point and took trips to Vegas and cruises to Alaska. Pamela Wragg and the Reddick sisters, who participated in the bar’s sporting nights, in games of bum darts and chicken bingo.

“There’s always Crystal,” said Will. He grinned. The co-op’s Out-to-Lunch Café was run by the cook, Crystal Briskie. Her real name was Janice, but following her divorce, when she’d reverted to her maiden name, she’d felt a change in her first name was also in order. She was a short, chunky woman in her mid-fifties whose fashion was inspired by Dolly Parton. Blonde hair piled on her head. Cleavage showing even as she deep-fried the hand-cut potatoes. She wore spiked heels while she worked, and
never failed to complain that her feet were sore. She didn’t go to church and Job gathered she didn’t have much use for religion. She once told Job, “You need to find yourself a good woman who’ll take care of you. Give you some loving. It’ll change everything. Make all that church business look like the nonsense it is.”

Job often took his coffee into the kitchen to talk with her while she cooked and sometimes helped her out, ladling up soup or flipping burgers. The sound of sizzling patties on the grill, bursts of orange and red that blended into each other like the food colouring his mother had dropped into vinegar to colour Easter eggs. “Why don’t you come work for me?” she said. “Better yet, take over running this place. I’ve had it with the complaints.” He liked that she enjoyed his company. He liked that she found him useful in the kitchen. But she was fifty. And smoked. And never went to church, and had two sons nearly his age.

Will refilled Job’s cup.

“So why not ask Ruth out?” said Jerry.

It was a cruel thing. Ruth looked out the window. Job studied his coffee. He’d given some thought to asking Ruth out. With her obvious physical strength and her no-nonsense spirit of mind, she would have made an excellent farmer’s wife. But just standing next to her made him feel inept. He didn’t like the thought of asking
her
to get the Kellogg’s box down from the top shelf.

“Ah, I’m just joshing,” said Jerry. “You’d look like a couple from a mock wedding.”

Ruth, and then Job, laughed from relief, for there it was, the truth of the matter.

“If I wasn’t seeing Will, I’d go out with you,” said Penny.
“What I mean is, it’s just a matter of you meeting some girls. You’re gorgeous.”

Will put the coffee pot back on its hot plate. “Penny’s right, you’re a good catch,” he said. “Just nobody knows it. I think putting an ad in the personals isn’t such a bad idea.”

Job played with the handle of his cup, stared down at his wavering reflection in the coffee. He didn’t share the same ruggedness of the local men, like Reuben Brostom, who had once killed nine gophers with one shot. Or Rusty Gronlund, who, after his arm was chopped off at the elbow when he tried to yank wet hay out of a clogged baler, had driven himself, and his severed arm on ice in his beer cooler, the half-hour drive to the hospital. But Job had his own charms.

Will sat back down and Ed handed him the duck. Job reached for the duck again, trying to make friends, but pulled a throbbing finger from its beak. It was a mallard. He’d given Will the clutch of eggs it had hatched from. A nest he’d run over with the mower the summer before, killing the mother duck, who, in her broodiness, wouldn’t fly off the nest to save herself. Job was too late to rescue the mother but gathered three unbroken eggs. Took them over to Will, who’d tucked them under a broody hen. Will was there to watch them hatch and he peeled the last of the egg away from this duck. Made a pet of him. First around the yard, later in the house so he wouldn’t fly off in the fall. Barbara demanded that Will diaper the bird, for it was she who cleaned the house, twice a month. Insisted on it.

Will held the duck’s beak closed together a moment, as punishment, and put it to the floor.

“How about that radio show,” said Ed. “ ‘Loveline.’ You ever listen to it?”

Job shook his head.

“The first part of the show they interview people who call in, one at a time. Others call in and try to convince the host why they should go out with one of the people interviewed. They’re all trying to sell themselves. The only thing is they stopped taking farmers because most of them lived too far away. But we could work that out somehow. It’s on tonight. We could phone.”

“No, no.”

“I’ll phone for you. Set it up.”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Leave it alone,” said Will. “Why not let us get on with our Bible study?”

“Fine,” said Ed. He grabbed a couple of Job’s almond squares, strode from the kitchen, clicked on the television in the living room.

Job, Will, Wade, Jerry, Ruth and Penny got down to the business at hand: determining the will of God. They had gone through the Bible-study course “Figuring Out the Will of God” twice in the last year, and Job was still confused. He knew how to ask in prayer. But how to be sure of God’s answer? Why could he never get a clear sign from God, when others who shouldn’t be certain claimed with confidence that God had spoken to them? Edith Spitzer waylaid people on the street, announced that God had told her to pass on a message, then lectured them on the dangers of mowing over outdoor electrical cords or making toast next to the kitchen sink, or on the importance of wearing safety goggles.

Edith, or Dithy as she was called—among other things—had lost her husband, Herb, and all her children when their car was hit by a train at the Millet crossing. With
the loss of her family, Dithy Spitzer became obsessed with the safety and health of others. She fancied herself a traffic cop, strode out into the street to stop a car if she saw a pedestrian waiting to cross, or if she thought the car was going too fast. After years of ushering her off the street, the RCMP had given in to her fantasies and presented her with a fluorescent vest so at least she would be seen. On to it she’d fashioned a holster, in which she carried a water pistol that she fired at drivers who didn’t yield to her frenzied demands to stop.

Just last week she’d grabbed Job’s arm as she met him in front of the co-op, whispered, “God told me to tell you that you’ve got to get out more.” When he yanked his arm away, walked on, she pulled out her water pistol and shot him in the back of the head.

Job’s was a problem that had long vexed the faithful. Gideon himself had felt it necessary to ask God for a sign, and then test the sign he got. He laid a fleece on the ground overnight, asked God to put dew on the fleece and not on the ground if God backed his plan to save Israel. And God did. But that could have just been condensation. So Gideon laid out the fleece a second night, and asked God to put dew on the ground this time and not on the fleece. A sure sign. In the parlance of Job’s community, testing God’s will in this manner was called putting out a fleece.

Job knew he shouldn’t bring simple decisions before God: like, what socks should he wear? What should he cook himself for dinner? But he knew he had to ask God for help in making any major decision, like, should he buy a new truck? Job’s truck was a moody red Ford that had belonged to his father and only started when God moved
it to. He kept meaning to take the truck over to Jerry’s to get the starter fixed, but found it useful for ascertaining God’s will. If the truck turned over he went into town. If it didn’t, he didn’t.

An hour into the study, Ed called from the living room. “Hey, Job. Phone.”

“I didn’t hear the phone ring,” said Will.

“Who is it?” Job asked. The duck followed him into the living room, its diapered tail swinging back and forth.

“How should I know?” said Ed.

Job took the phone, said “Hello?” Listened to music for a few moments. “Hello?”

“Hello, Job from Godsfinger. I’m Roly Redman and you’re live on ‘Loveline.’ So, Job, tell us about yourself. I understand you’re in real estate.”

“No. I’m a beef farmer. Cow-calf operation. Who is this?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like you pulled a fast one on us, Job. We don’t take farmers. Most of you live too far away for our callers to hook up with.”

“Take farmers for what?”

“This is ‘Loveline.’ Edmonton’s dating show. And you’re on the air.”

He watched Ed pick up the duck. “I’m sorry. Somebody’s played a joke on me.”

“We’ve got you on the air now, Job. Why not tell us about yourself? What do you like to do, besides farming? What do you do to entertain yourself when you don’t have a date on a Saturday night?”

Job thought of himself in the kitchen, listening to the vacuum cleaner, stroking the invisible glass egg in his hands. His cat sucking her tail at his feet. “Not much,” he said.

“Come on, there must be something you like doing.”

“I cook.”

“Great! Gals love a man who cooks. Don’t you girls?” Canned giggles, a womanly
whoopee
. “So what kind of cooking? Taiwanese? Tex-Mex?”

“Just cooking. Home cooking. I like to bake.”

“Great! Cookies, cakes, that sort of thing?”

“Almond squares. Matrimonial cake.”

“Matrimonial cake. The way to a woman’s heart. So what are you looking for in the way of a girl, Job?”

“I don’t know. A Christian.”

“Okay, a Christian. What else?”

“That’s about it.”

“All right, girls. We’ve got a guy who bakes squares and ain’t picky. If you think he’s the one for you, give us a call later in the show. Now we’re on to our next caller, Rick from Castle Downs. Hello, Rick. You’re live on ‘Loveline.’ ”

Job hung up the phone. Turned to find Ed and Will, Jerry and Wade, Ruth and Penny all watching from the living-room doorway.

“So?” said Ed.

“You didn’t give them my home number?”

“No. I gave them this number. You should hear back within the hour. Come on, let’s listen to the show. Hear who calls in for you.”

There was Cindy, who water-skied in the Shuswap during her vacations and thought she’d be perfect for Rick from Castle Downs, who was into dirt biking. Sandy from Beverly, who was hoping for someone to talk to and liked the voice of Andy from McKernan. Shelly from Londonderry, who wanted the number of Phil because
she was looking for a man with a steady job. Call after call, but none for Job from Godsfinger, who cooked and baked and would take any Christian girl who might accept him.

Then a call from Debbie. “I feel God is leading me to have coffee with Job from Godsfinger.”

“Can you tell us why?”

“Well, as I said, God is leading me.”

“No particular reason, eh?”

“I think God telling me to is reason enough.”

“You got a point there, Debbie. All right, Job, if you’re listening, you’re going to get a call from Debbie from Millwoods. Let’s move on to the next caller.”

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. Job picked it up. “Hello. Job Sunstrum speaking.” He was caught by the formality of his voice. Like a bank manager.

“This is Debbie Biggs. I heard you on ‘Loveline.’ ” Her voice nasal, a cluster of little balls, like frog’s eggs, the colour of a John Deere tractor. “I wouldn’t normally phone into a show like that,” she said. “But God led me to.”

“Well.” He cleared his throat, glanced back at Ruth, Wade, Penny, Will and Jerry standing at the living-room entranceway, watching. The duck waddled across the floor towards him.

“Besides, I liked the sound of your voice. The way you described yourself, with such
vulnerability
. You did say you were Christian, didn’t you?”

“I was looking for a Christian, yes.”

“So what do you look like? No, don’t tell me. I want to walk into the restaurant where we meet and pick you out
intuitively
.”

“
Intuitively
?” The duck pulled at the laces of his boots. He brushed it away with his foot.

“I feel that we should
know
our soulmates immediately, when we first meet them. We just
feel
something click inside. Something inside us says, ‘That’s the one for me.’ You know what I’m saying? I always know when someone’s my soulmate. Oh, listen to me, babbling on. I’ll let you talk now. Go ahead.”

“I, um—”

“I’ve put you on the spot. We can talk when we get together.”

“Yes, we could meet.”

“How about next week? I’m busy this weekend. Say, Friday? That’s my day off. You can get away from the farm on a weekday, right?”

“Sure, Friday.”

“How about noon at Maxwell Taylor’s. You know, the restaurant on Calgary Trail?”

“I was wondering if you could come here, to Godsfinger. I’m not much for the city, and I wanted you to see me in my element.” So she’d know what she was getting into right away. So he wouldn’t be hurt later.

“All right, I guess. Okay. Sure.”

“At the Godsfinger co-op. The Out-to-Lunch Café. You can’t miss it. It’s the only restaurant in town.”

“The
only
restaurant?”

“Well, they serve coffee at the gas station. And there’s a bar, but—”

“The co-op will be fine.”