Eden Hill (19 page)

Chapter four in the Zipco manual was about becoming involved in the community. For the last several months he’d been so focused on getting the Zipco off the ground that he’d practically ignored its recommendations. And after walking out on the church Work Day, he was even more ashamed to show his face there. Some people in town he’d come to recognize, but he knew little else about them. Virgil and Welby he knew
 
—at least by name
 
—and he’d made the acquaintance of Grover Stacy over at the grocery.

JoAnn had gotten to know Anna Belle, who seemed to have taken a special interest in her. Often Anna Belle would bring something from Stacy’s Grocery, and had even offered to come sit with Suzy so they could have a night out. Reverend Caudill had come by several times, but his church was right next door with the parsonage behind, and wasn’t visiting part of a preacher’s job? The Methodist minister had also stopped in with some brochures and an invitation to visit. To be expected.

In all this and more, he’d failed. Miserably. His credit, marriage, and patience had been stretched to their limits. Nobody at Zipco or the Bluegrass College of Business had ever talked about failure. Business would certainly pick up during the summer, with people driving more, but in the meantime . . .

His funk was interrupted by a loud ding. A large black Buick had pulled into the pump area, and an elderly woman was talking to Charlie. The conversation, which could be heard at some distance, included a fill-up with premium
gasoline, a full oil change, and a new set of tires. Mrs. Crutcher also wanted a chassis lube; said she was off to see her lawyer and didn’t want to go with a squeaky car.

He gave a sigh of relief. The maintenance on the Buick would bring in more revenue than they had seen all week, and “the appearance of a busy shop will invite additional business.” Page sixty-six in the Zipco manual was a favorite. Improving finances would certainly make JoAnn happy. Or at least happier.

It was a hard morning. Virgil hadn’t slept well, probably due to a cup of leftover coffee before going to bed. Mavine had tossed and turned as well, and woke later than usual. Vee needed a lunch packed for a school field trip and almost missed his bus. Virgil finally made his own breakfast of cereal and bananas and got to work a half hour late.

He was always grateful for Welby’s friendship and advice, and today he needed both. “Was I wrong last night?” Virgil sat carefully in a nearby chair, not yet used to his newly starched trousers.

Welby rolled his creeper out from under Grover’s old Plymouth. “You lost your temper
 
—can’t say anyone blamed you. Reverend Caudill caught you by surprise and felt bad about it afterwards. Said to tell you he’s sorry and meant no harm.”

“And Arlie?”

“Came by earlier this morning to buy some Nabs on his
way to the lake. Said he sat up with a sick hog last night. Seemed to be having a really hard time about something. Had his boat with him, so he’ll probably be out there all day.”

“So?”

“He’s still your friend, if that’s what’s worrying you. Said he stopped at the Zipco to talk to Charlie about something and got gas while he was there. Virgil, you say you’re worried, and I think you’re really wondering what’s best to do.” Welby wiped his hands on a greasy towel. “The most important thing you can do right now is to help out Mr. Alexander.”

“Help him out? Of what?”

“His situation. Look across the street. Mrs. Crutcher took her Buick in for tires, gasoline, and some chassis work. Probably the first real business he’s had since he opened.”

“How do you know that’s what she’s having done?” Virgil found a stool near the parts washer and parked on it.

“I sent her. She came here first.”

“You did
wha
t
?”

“Virgil, I came in to work early this morning, before the Zipco opened. I could hear Mr. Alexander and his wife arguing when he left their trailer to go to work. My hearing’s not what it used to be, but I didn’t have to know what the words were to know what’s going on. He needs the business more than we do. It also gave Mrs. Crutcher a chance to do something good for a change.”

Virgil started to say something, but Welby held up his hand. “I know you and Mavine have been mulling over how to respond to the Zipco station. Alma said she’s talked with her, and Mavine thinks you need to do something about it. Yes?”

Virgil nodded.

“Remember Reverend Caudill’s message on the Good Samaritan?”

“One of his better sermons.”

“How did the Scripture passage start out?”

“Let’s see, a man asked a question: ‘And who is my neighbor?’”

“And then Jesus told a parable. How did it go?”

“A man went down to Jericho, if I remember correctly.”

“Exactly right. And he fell among thieves. We both remember the rest of the story. Virgil, a man went down to Eden Hill and fell into some hard times. The way I see it, you have a choice.”

“A choice?”

“That’s right. You can either be the guy who beats him up, or you can be the one who picks him up. I saw you take a stand for the right thing when Mrs. Crutcher went on her tirade, so I know you have it in you. Which one are you going to be?”

“But Mavine expects
 
—”

“Mavine expects you to be the good neighbor. And a good neighbor is probably a good husband and father. Do the right thing and help Mr. Alexander. You’ll not regret it.”

Reverend Caudill was not in the mood for pastoral calls, but he had to meet with Arlie and apologize to Virgil. Clearly he’d spoken out of turn the night before. Knowing that Mavine would be at the Glamour Nook after lunch, he went
by Osgood’s to clear things up and to learn more. Welby was still tinkering with Grover’s sedan, so they met in Virgil’s office in the back. The calendar, Reverend Caudill was happy to see, had been replaced by a photo of Mavine and Vee Junior.

“Virgil, I guess I’m here to say I’m sorry about what I said last night.”

“Don’t worry about it, Reverend. I haven’t been myself lately, either.”

“Anything I can do to help?” The pastor found the old dinette chair, which Welby had returned to Virgil’s office. This might take a while. “This new Zipco place is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

Virgil looked off to his left and paused. “Yeah. Welby and I have been talking about it too. I think Mavine’s more worried than me now. She’s got me in starched pants and shiny shoes. Thinks we need to do something more so we won’t lose business. Competition, she keeps calling it. Welby, on the other hand, thinks we ought to send some work his way. Says it’s the right thing to do. I’m confused, I guess.”

“Well, I do understand competition.” The Methodist church up the street came to mind. “But Welby’s right. You need to make Mr. Alexander your friend and not your enemy.”

“And how do I do that?”

“It seems to me that you can start by walking across the street.” Reverend Caudill rose from his seat. “Well, I must be going. By the way, are you and Mavine getting along okay?”

Virgil stiffened and didn’t answer.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Reverend Caudill savored the taste of shoe leather, and it was just as bitter as it had been the night before.

Reverend Caudill’s telephone call to Arlie’s farm resulted in a lengthy conversation with Lula Mae, who was most concerned about Frank’s moral upbringing. After being assured that Virgil’s raunchy calendar no longer posed a threat to Eden Hill’s morality, she allowed that Arlie had gone to the lake fishing for the day. He wasn’t hard to find. Reverend Caudill simply followed the tracks of the pickup truck, easily visible in the damp grass. Arlie himself had pushed his boat into the water and was unwrapping a plug of chewing tobacco as the pastor pulled up.

“Afternoon, Reverend. Something you need?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk with you.”

“Well, get in the boat. I’m fishin’.” Arlie was not a man of unnecessary words. “I’ve got plenty of minners and an extra pole, if you want to use it.”

Well. Reverend Caudill had not been fishing since he was ten years old, but the memory was pleasant, and he
did
need to chat with Arlie. He climbed in after Arlie, being careful not to step on the cane pole in the bottom. The Jon boat sported an outboard motor, which started with a tug on the starter rope, and soon they were well away from the bank. The vessel sat low in the water on Arlie’s end but was large enough that there was no danger of tipping over. As they
approached a fallen tree, Arlie switched off the motor and dropped a small anchor over the side.

“Here we are.” He handed the bamboo rod to Reverend Caudill. “It’s already got a hook and line, and there’s minners in the bucket.”

He suddenly realized that he was dressed in his ministerial suit and tie
 
—hardly appropriate clothing for angling. The bucket in the center was indeed filled with minnows and contained a dip net, and the pastor chose a small but chubby one for his initial bait. No sooner had he dropped the line in the water than the bobber disappeared, the water churned, and he pulled in a nice-size crappie.

“Nice one. There’s another bucket there for the keepers.” Arlie pointed to a galvanized washtub in the middle of the boat. “Limit’s sixty.”

Arlie was next to land a frisky fish. Into the tub it went, and soon there were fifteen swimming around, splashing water in all directions. Reverend Caudill was catching the finny creatures as fast as he could reload minnows, with Arlie doing the same. When one fisherman hooked a particularly large example, the other would use a landing net to ensure there was no escape for the hapless crappie.

“Arlie, what I really came for was to talk with you about your family. And your relationship to God. I’ve not seen you at church for a while; just wanted to see if everything was okay.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. And me and God are just fine.”

“And your son, Frank?”

“Put your line in over by that old dead tree.”

By four o’clock, Reverend Caudill had lost track of time and space. It wasn’t exactly the pastoral visit he’d expected, but he was having a grand time, had gotten to know Arlie somewhat better, and had discussed the issues he’d come to talk about
 
—sort of. Thirty of the crappie in the washtub were his, matching the number tossed in by his companion. Fish were flopping about the bottom of the boat as the tub overflowed, and his best suit was soaked up to his knees. No problem
 
—he’d take it by Willett’s Dry Goods to be sent for cleaning and wear his other suit on Sunday.

Sunday? For the past two hours he’d not thought about Sunday’s sermon, nor Madeline Crutcher. Surprisingly, he did not feel guilty at all. Truth was, he needed a hobby, some pastime to help him relax.

Arlie pulled the rope again and the motor putted to life, belching nearly as much smoke as his truck. As the Jon boat approached the bank, Reverend Caudill became aware that a third vehicle had pulled up beside his car and Arlie’s truck. It was black-and-white and sported a rotating red light on the top.

Deputy Blanford met them and helped pull the small craft out of the water. “Good afternoon, gentlemen! May I see your fishing licenses, please?”