Eden Hill (20 page)

Arlie dug into the pocket of his overalls, and among the duct tape and baling wire managed to produce his wallet. Inside he found the crumpled official certificate and presented it to the officer for approval.

The deputy nodded and handed it back. “Reverend?”

He was caught and knew it. He tried a diversion. “No license, Officer Blanford, but I’m here on the Lord’s
work, ministering to one of my parishioners. Surely you understand.”

“I’m sure you are, Reverend, but I’m here on the state’s authority and I’m going to have to issue you a citation for fishing without a license. Sorry, but you’ll also have to give up your fish.”

Arlie spoke up. “Tom, how do you know which fish are his? They’re all in the same bucket!”

The deputy scratched his head. “Now that’s a good question.” He paused for thought. “Okay, you can keep the fish, but I still have to give you a ticket.” With that, he scribbled a few words on a pad, tore off the top sheet, and handed it to the minister. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” His task finished, the deputy and part-time game warden climbed into his patrol car and drove away.

Reverend Caudill stared at the citation for a long time, looking for a loophole.

Finding none, he folded the paper and put it in his suit pocket. It was going to cost him a ten spot for his afternoon’s ministry. “Guess I’d better be on my way too.”

“Not without your fish.” Arlie found a flimsy but serviceable plastic bucket in the back of his truck and filled it with lake water and squirming crappie. “Roll ’em in flour and fry ’em up in bacon grease. Mighty good.”

The pastor helped Arlie get the boat back onto its trailer, cranking the winch while the farmer guided it into position. Arlie’s washtub of fish went into the passenger seat next to the truck’s owner, who climbed inside and rolled the window down. “Reverend?”

“Anything I can do for you, Arlie?”

“I suppose you can pray for me.”

He started the truck, filling the pastor’s face with blue smoke, and rumbled away.

Well. Reverend Caudill had a ten-dollar fine, a spiritual burden, and a bucket of fish. He had no idea how to clean and cook crappie, and they were ill-gotten besides. Dumping them back into the lake wasn’t an option
 
—Arlie had stuck his own neck out on his behalf. He poured out about half of the water, opened his trunk, and jammed the pail in place with his spare tire.

As he drove away, he was nursing his guilt. The deputy was right: he’d not rendered unto Caesar that which belonged to Caesar. There was no way he could keep his catch, or he’d feel even worse. As he crossed the bridge into town, an idea occurred to him. If he couldn’t take the fish home, he’d just have to give them away. At the Zipco Super Service, he made a hard left.

“Afternoon, Reverend.” Cornelius, snappy and uniformed, met him as he braked to a stop. “What can I do for you today?”

“Actually, I’ve come to do something for you.” Reverend Caudill had gotten out and opened the trunk. “Got a gift for you and your wife. Dinner.” With that, he lifted out the white plastic container and set it on the blacktop.

Cornelius stared at the bucket, started to speak, then fell
silent. “Why, thank you, Reverend. They’ll make a fine dinner, indeed.” He looked at the bucket of fish, then back at the clergyman, who thought he saw some deep pain along with the smile. Yes, this was the right thing to do.

“How do I fix them?” Cornelius’s voice was breaking.

“Roll them in flour and fry them up in bacon grease. Mighty good, I’m told!”

Reverend Caudill found Sunday worship at the First Evangelical Baptist Church a glorious occasion. The weather was spectacular, Toler’s direction of the choir was surprisingly energetic, and the sermon, “Casting Our Nets on the Other Side of the Boat,” was followed with interest by most of the congregation, which pleased him greatly. Madeline Crutcher was noticeably absent from her front pew, and nobody snored. The crowd was larger than usual, including all the regular families and one less-familiar couple: the Alexanders sat in the rear under the balcony. Following the benediction, he quickly made his way to the door to greet parishioners. Even his corns were quiet this morning. The Osgoods shook his hand as they left, as did the Prewitts. The Alexanders were the last ones to the door, waiting quietly to one side while the others departed.

The reverend smiled. “So glad to see you fine folks this morning. Hope you’ve been blessed today.”

“Happy to be here.” Cornelius offered a firm handshake. “Thank you so much for the fish. They were quite tasty.”

“Happy to oblige.” He thought of the citation and swallowed a wince. “Where’s your daughter this morning?”

JoAnn brightened. “Anna Belle took her to the nursery so we could attend the worship service. She said she’d meet us afterward. Oh, here she is!”

Anna Belle appeared at the doorway, carrying a contented little bundle. “Suzy’s been great! We’ve had such a good time this morning
 
—she even fell asleep on Grover’s shoulder while he was rocking her.” Her husband had come alongside, carrying a bulging pink diaper bag. “She’s been changed and is all ready to go.” She handed the cooing infant to JoAnn while Grover handed the bag to Cornelius.

“Well, it’s been a fine Sunday. Might we look for you again next week?” The pastor was at his best with contented babies and happy visitors.

“We’ll try to be here. Welby and Alma even invited us to Sunday school.” The young family walked down the steps and headed for the Zipco station and their home behind, JoAnn carrying Suzy while Cornelius followed, leaning to one side from the heavy bag slung over his shoulder.

Reverend Caudill smiled. Fishers of men, indeed. It had cost him a trip to the courthouse and ten bucks for a fishing license, but it had been well worth it.

Cornelius and JoAnn stepped into their front door and put the now-sleeping Suzy into her makeshift baby bed made of empty soda crates and a large cardboard box. They’d get
something better when they could afford it or when Suzy outgrew it, whichever came first. Cornelius hadn’t been keen on attending church, but JoAnn wanted to go and thought they ought to show some appreciation to Reverend Caudill, who had been so kind on Friday afternoon.

Cornelius put the diaper bag on the floor next to Suzy’s bed. It was much heavier than he remembered, and he wondered if Grover and Anna Belle had forgotten and left a soaked diaper behind. Gingerly feeling the bottom, his hand found something round and heavy.

“Well look at this!” he whispered. JoAnn leaned closer as he pulled several items from the bag: Enfamil, followed by small jars of pureed carrots, spinach, peas, and something called fruit dessert. There was also a note, written on the back of a Sunday school quarterly:

We were so glad to see you in church today. Grover went to the store while I was changing Suzy and brought these back for you. If she’s too young for the food in the jars, she’ll grow into it.

Blessings, Anna Belle and Grover Stacy

For the first time in many days, JoAnn laughed. Then she leaned over and planted a juicy kiss on her husband’s cheek. “You know, Neil, I think God is trying to tell us something here.”

Cornelius puzzled over her words. Was it God, or just
two kind people reaching out a helping hand, right where his family was hurting the most? Cornelius stared at the unexpected gift in front of him. Did God know their cupboard was empty? Why would he pay attention to the Alexanders, especially when Cornelius had paid him no mind for so long?

His life was empty, too, he had to admit. And falling apart, at that. He’d never thought of church in terms of buckets of crappie or jars of baby food, and if he wasn’t careful, he might just give in to one of Reverend Caudill’s invitations.

JoAnn had fallen asleep in the upholstered chair and was breathing softly. Her eyes were closed, but peace was written across her face.

G
LORIOUS WORSHIP SERVICES
notwithstanding, Virgil’s weekend had been decidedly unpleasant. Saturday had been spent mowing the yard and planting zinnias like Mavine wanted, instead of fishing at the lake like he wanted. She’d pushed hard to get the family to church on Sunday morning, rushing both him and Vee out the door, and was quite upset that Vee’s shirttail wasn’t tucked in all the way. Sunday dinner had been delicious but quiet, and she had little to say and his compliments went unacknowledged. Virgil was carrying his own dishes to the sink when the phone rang.

Mavine answered. The caller had gone on for a full minute after “Hello,” before she spoke again. “He said what?
And was telling this to Frank?” Mavine’s color changed from ashen white to beet red and back again. “Yes, Lula Mae, I’ll deal with this right away.”

Mavine hung up the instrument with a slam and a resounding clang. “Virgil T. Osgood Jr.! Get in here!” Vee had started for the door with his baseball glove but came running. Fear shone in his eyes.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I just spoke with Mrs. Prewitt about your behavior in Sunday school this morning. It seems you told Frank a joke.”

“Uh . . .”

“A knock-knock joke. And when Frank said, ‘Who’s there?’ you said, ‘Sawyer,’ and when he said, ‘Sawyer who?’ what did you say?”

Vee had assumed a color similar to Mavine’s. “Uh . . .”

“What?”

He mumbled something and looked at his shoes.

Mavine’s eyes grew as wide as Virgil’s coffee mug, and the pitch of her voice climbed half an octave. “Go to your room while I decide what you’ll be reading for your punishment.”

“Awww, Mom. I wanna go play ball with the guys.” He looked to his father and found no sympathy.

“Get up there right now or you’ll be reading
War and Peace
.”

Vee stared at the thick tome on Mavine’s bookshelf. His eyes grew wide, and without hesitation or further argument he shot up the stairs, stomping defiantly on each step.

Virgil stifled a laugh.
“Saw your underwear”
seemed a harmless if silly joke, but clearly Mavine thought otherwise. Still, it
didn’t belong in Sunday school, especially if Lula Mae Prewitt was the teacher. He grimaced at the memory of the Calendar Fiasco, but this was a bit much, even for Lula Mae. Hoping to ease Vee’s pain, he scanned a row of thinner books just above Tolstoy’s classic. “Mavine, how about this one? The cover has a picture of a fish on it.
The Old Man and the Sea
?” With luck, Virgil expected, he could still get to the lake this afternoon.

Mavine snatched the book from Virgil’s hand and skimmed the first few pages. “Well, it might be good for him.” She grumbled up the stairs, punishment in hand. The conversation that ensued, as Virgil heard it, was lively but muted, ending in another “Oh, Mom!” from Vee.

Mavine’s departure gave Virgil a moment to sit and think. He’d learned something over the past few months and needed to remember what it was. He hadn’t understood that entire
Pageant
article, but he now knew that Mavine needed more attention from him, which he had tried to do. He was expected to at least ask the right questions and not defend himself.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy!” Mavine descended the stairs with only slightly less noise and drama than Vee’s ascent. “Trashy stories, acting up at church. The school principal even sent a note home on Friday.”

Virgil sat up sharply in his chair. “What’d Vee do now?”

“Pulled Darlene Prewitt’s pigtails in the lunchroom, that’s what. If he hadn’t been riding the school bus that afternoon, Mrs. Dawson would have made him stay after school and write sentences on the blackboard.”

“He got sent to the principal’s office?” Virgil scowled. “Did she say anything else?”

“Only that he seemed upset about something at home.”

Virgil looked toward the stairway and scratched his head. “Well, it
has
been busy around here, with the new service station across the road. Maybe that’s it. Vee doesn’t miss much, you know.”

“Frank Prewitt got sent to the principal along with him.”

Virgil stopped scratching and looked straight at Mavine. “What did Frank do?”

“Fighting.”

An unexpected twist. “About Vee pulling Darlene’s pigtails?”

“No, Frank would probably find that funny.” She paused. “Virgil?”

Here it comes.
Virgil steeled himself for it this time. “Yes?”

“Lula Mae and Arlie are getting
 
—” Mavine paused and swallowed a lump in her throat
 
—“a divorce.”

“A . . . what?” His friend? Arlie? “Where did you hear that?”

“Gladys was telling us at the Glamour Nook on Friday.”

“Mavine, Gladys is a very nice lady and a good friend of yours, but you shouldn’t believe everything she says.”

“Virgil, she said Lula Mae told her herself. They’ve been talking to Reverend Caudill and some marriage counselor in Quincy. Lula Mae’s tried to make it work, but says Arlie is angry all the time and won’t let her do anything or go anywhere. She’s worried about Frank and Darlene too. Frank’s been in trouble at school, and Darlene’s been sick off and on all spring.” Mavine squinted away a tear. “And I’m worried myself.”

Virgil, who had never been comfortable around emotions,
was at a total loss. Not only had he not seen this coming; he wouldn’t know how to prepare for it even if he had. Arlie could be a bit gruff and short with words and Lula Mae a bit overbearing, but he never thought they might consider ending their marriage. Except for Gladys, that kind of thing just didn’t happen around here. Not in Eden Hill, it didn’t.

“Virgil?” Her blinking no longer held back the flow.

He paused. “Yes?”

“You’ve seemed angry lately too. At Arlie, at Mr. Alexander, maybe even at Vee and me. Could that ever happen to us? Separating, I mean.”

Virgil started to say something, then paused. He’d called her ideas foolishness once before, and that had not gone well. Clearly his wife was hurting
 
—both for her friend, and in her own imagination
 
—and there was nothing foolish or silly about
that
.

He remembered something from his conversation with Welby too. He knew who he was, where his values lay, and just how much he loved Mavine. And he’d picked up some courage. If he could stand up against Madeline Crutcher, he could certainly stand up for Mavine.

“I’m sorry if I’ve acted like I was unhappy with you or Vee. This new Zipco station across the road is turning out to be more trouble than I thought. We’ll probably make less money, and that will be hard sometimes.”

She looked away. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Virgil stood up. “Mavine, I’ll never want to be away from you. Ever! And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. You’re my wife and the mother of our son.”

She brightened and reached in her purse for a Kleenex. Finding none, she grabbed the nearest dishrag. “Promise?” She wiped at her damp brow.

“Mavine, when I said, ‘I do,’ I meant it. And I meant all that other stuff too.”

“But you forgot our anniversary. Again. Everyone at the Glamour Nook wanted to know what you had given me.”

“Our . . . what?” He sat back down.

“It was Thursday. I really thought you’d remember this year.”

It was all making sense now. “I’m so sorry, Mavine. I’ll make it up to you.” He started to say something about stress and business and Zipco, but thought better of it. He was already in enough trouble.

This was one of those situations where anything he might say would be wrong. Everything he’d said and done that he thought showed deep affection, she’d seen as shallow. And all the things he was trying to do to keep their little business afloat weren’t enough. On one hand, Welby and the Bible seemed to be saying that Cornelius was his neighbor, and he needed to be, well, neighborly. On the other hand, Mavine wanted more effort on his part.

It was going to be hard to keep God and his wife both happy.

The next few minutes passed awkwardly, with Mavine saying nothing and clunking around in the kitchen, and Virgil flipping through the new
Popular Mechanics
. Saying nothing was better than offering anything when he had failed, so he decided to just wait until she became talkative
again. And Arlie’s marriage falling apart? That explained a lot. Virgil decided he didn’t like magazines, so he tossed it in the basket by the couch.

After about ten minutes, Mavine had put all the pots and pans away and cleaned the basket in the coffeepot in preparation for the next morning. She wandered past the table, patted Virgil on the shoulder, and said, “I love you anyway,” and went outside to check on her zinnias.

By evening, the family had come to a truce. Mavine had agreed to allow Vee to watch
Wild Kingdom
on television
 
—but only because the host was named
Marlin
Perkins and she thought it would be educational. Virgil had planted some flower seeds where Mavine wanted them, touched up a couple of places on the chicken coop he’d missed the first time around, and still got to spend an hour at the lake. He caught one pitiful bluegill and lost two of his best lures. Having had all the fun he could stand, he went to bed at nine thirty
 
—well before Mavine retired. Since he too was worried about Arlie and Lula Mae, he tossed and turned until almost ten before falling into a fitful sleep.

Virgil, at Mavine’s suggestion, set his alarm clock for five thirty on Monday, climbed into his rigid trousers and shirt, gulped down his coffee, and headed out his front door thirty minutes later. There was no work to do at six o’clock, but she’d claimed, “You’ll look so much more successful.” If it would make her happy, it would be worth it.

Ticky and her three puppies followed along, running in circles. He patted her head, grateful for the company and companionship. Across the street the Zipco sign was illuminated and turning, a glowing beacon in the morning twilight. Sometime over the weekend, the price signs had been updated, reducing the cost of gasoline another penny per gallon for both grades. Mr. Alexander was chatting with a customer. Charlie was filling the woman’s tank with deeply discounted fuel while two more cars waited in line.