Eden Hill (33 page)

“Slow down, Brother Taggart. What was that again?”

“Only a miracle, Reverend Caudill. We made the winning bid on the old Crutcher Funeral Home and now have a place to meet. Glory to God! We don’t rightly know how we’ll come up with the payments each month, but I am trusting that God will provide. He always does.”

“Glory to God, indeed. I’m so glad for you and your congregation.”

As the man went on and on in his exhilaration, Reverend Caudill became aware of sounds coming in his window. Shouts, commotion, and a siren. Now what?

“Sorry, Brother Taggart. I’m very happy for you, but I’ve got an emergency. I’ll call you back.”

He hung up the phone as discreetly as he could and was out the door in a dash. The ambulance was hard to miss with the flashing lights.

“Mavine! What happened?” The ambulance’s back door had closed, presumably with Virgil inside.

“Car fell on him. They’re taking him to the hospital in Quincy. I’m riding in with him.”

“Okay, I’ll drive Vee to the hospital right behind them.”

Cornelius spoke. “What can I do to help?”

She paused before closing the ambulance door. “You can help by enjoying dinner with JoAnn. And would you turn off the oven and put things in the refrigerator when you’re finished?”

“We’ll take care of it, Mrs. Osgood.”

“Mavine. Please call me Mavine.”

Mavine rode in the back with Virgil, who was awake and relatively calm.

“I’m so sorry, Mavine. I should have known better.” His voice was weak; clearly he was in pain.

“Don’t try to talk. I just want you to look at me.” She’d found a clean shop towel and was dabbing at the cuts on his chest. “On second thought, why don’t you just close your eyes and relax?”

He smiled and held her hand.

Surprisingly, she found herself singing softly. One of the few songs she could remember, and his favorite. Patsy Cline would have been pleased to know that she was “crazy for loving” Virgil T. Osgood and that he’d never be off with “somebody new.”

The trip to Quincy General Hospital was as calm as a high-speed ride on rural roads in a bouncing Oldsmobile ambulance could be. Virgil was wheeled into the emergency room to be examined, x-rayed, poked and prodded, and finally admitted. Mavine, Vee, and Reverend Caudill were waiting outside the door of room 142 when two orderlies wheeled Virgil into the room and placed him gingerly into the bed. The doctor in his white coat followed a couple of minutes later.

“Mrs. Osgood?”

“Yes?”

“Your husband has had a nasty accident, but it could have
been much worse. He has a large contusion and a broken collarbone, but his back and neck are fine. We have him on a sedative and some pain medication, so he’s pretty drowsy right now. He’ll be fine, but we’ll need to keep him here overnight for observation.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you so much, Doctor.”

“Mrs. Osgood, I have to ask you. Just how did you get the car off of him?”

“I don’t know. I just knew I had to lift it off.”

The doctor smiled. “Adrenaline.”

“What?”

“It’s something your body produces when you need extra energy. I learned about it in medical school, but never seen it until now. When you’re faced with a challenge beyond your abilities, you’re given the strength to do what you need to do. You couldn’t lift that car all by yourself, Mrs. Osgood. You had some help.”

Reverend Caudill beamed. “I couldn’t agree more!”

The pastor drove Mavine and Vee back home about ten o’clock. Vee promptly fell asleep in the backseat, so Mavine and the pastor spoke in hushed voices. It had been a hard day for everyone. Her emotions had been up, down, and all around. She told Reverend Caudill the story, or at least the ten-minute version of it.

“I hope I’m doing the right thing, Reverend. After JoAnn and Suzy came over last week, I knew I had to do something
for them. After the fire, it became very clear. I realized that I had been doing a lot of things terribly wrong for the last few months. I just hope I haven’t hurt our marriage or family
 
—or theirs.”

“Mavine, we all make mistakes in life, but God’s grace covers it all. The main thing is to learn from them and go forward. Which I think you’ve done exceedingly well.”

“But I’ve wronged JoAnn and Cornelius, and I’ve doubted whether I still have feelings for Virgil I once had, so I’ve wronged him, too. And tonight
 
—” she began to cry
 
—“I almost lost him. And I realized then just how much I love Virgil.”

Reverend Caudill laughed. “Oh, Mavine. Do you understand that what you did tonight proved your love for Virgil more than anything else you could have done? You saved his life, Mavine. And the doctor was right. That strength came from somewhere beyond your power. Your love for Virgil is solid, no doubt about that.”

Virgil awakened the next morning about nine o’clock after a good night’s sleep. He found his left arm in a sling and something wrapped tightly around his chest, nothing on his face but a couple of bandages. The nurse came in to take the oxygen mask off and told him that the doctor had checked him at about six o’clock when he made rounds. The doctor had been very pleased with his progress and was willing to let him go home at eleven o’clock after one final check.

He was still sleepy
 
—probably some medicine they had given him. There were several voices in the room, and he could make out Mavine and . . . Welby? It took several blinks until his eyes and thoughts cleared.

“Mavine?”

“Good morning, Virgil.” She bent over and kissed his head. “I love you.”

“And I love you too. Who’s with you
 
—Welby? Alma?”

“We’re right here, Virgil!”

“But who’s watching Osgood’s? It’s Tuesday
 
—no, Wednesday
 
—and we’re supposed to be open. It’s usually our busiest day . . .”

“Not to worry, Virgil,” Welby chuckled. “Mr. Alexander is taking care of your customers for you. Charlie’s handling things on his side of the street. It sounds like we missed a lot of excitement while we were gone.”

Virgil tried to nod, but it hurt too much.

“He said it’s the least he could do for you. And he sent you this.” He handed Virgil a card, sealed in a small envelope.

Virgil took the reading glasses that Mavine had brought, propped them on his nose with some effort and pain, and opened the card. It still carried the Zipco logo, which Cornelius had scratched out and written over it
Alexander’s
. Virgil read it aloud:

So sorry for your accident! Hope you get well soon. And thank you for letting us stay in Vee Junior’s bedroom until
we can replace the mobile home. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.

Your friends and neighbors,

Cornelius and JoAnn

Friends. He smiled and closed the card. “I guess everything works out, doesn’t it?”

Welby nodded. “Just be glad it was the Nash instead of the Buick!”

Virgil started to laugh, but it hurt too much. “I’m glad, indeed.”

There was a knock on the door, and a nurse appeared with a wheelchair and instructions from the doctor. “Take the rest of the week off. No heavy lifting. Take this pill twice a day, as needed for pain.” She handed the prescription to Mavine. “And don’t
ever
work alone under a jacked-up car!”

Virgil agreed, signed the release form, and was a free man. In more ways than one.

R
EVEREND
C
AUDILL
had come over to make a pastoral call and now sat enjoying a wonderful lunch, courtesy of Mavine, who had heated up the pork chops and green beans and made fresh biscuits to go with them. Virgil was still drowsy and sore, but was in good spirits and hoped to be in church on Sunday, and back to work
 
—at least to pump gas with his right arm
 
—by the next Monday.

Vee came rushing downstairs, excited and breathless. “Mom, look outside.”

Mavine and Reverend Caudill followed Vee to the front windows and saw a van painted with a large NBC logo. What on earth was channel three doing in front of Osgood’s?

The doorbell rang, and Vee jumped toward the front door. “Are we gonna be on TV?”

“Vee,
we’re
certainly not,” Mavine called, halting the boy in his tracks. “Reverend Caudill, would you be willing to talk to the reporter? It hurts too much for Virgil to talk, and I’m terrified of being on TV.”

Vee’s shoulders slumped. Obviously the boy would have been more than willing to speak for the whole family. But Reverend Caudill agreed to be the spokesman. Besides, he would be able to tell the whole story. The real story.

He stepped outside with the reporter, a young man with immaculate hair and a large microphone. Another man carrying a large film camera followed, his eye glued to the viewfinder. The pastor straightened his tie.

“Can you tell us what happened when Mr. Osgood was pinned by the car?” the reporter asked, his microphone thrust into the pastor’s face.

“Virgil T. Osgood is one of my parishioners, and I have to tell you he’s a fine man. One of the best. He runs Osgood’s
 
—” he pointed
 
—“a fine business and an asset to our community. He was working by himself when a car fell off the jacks, and his beloved wife, Mavine, found him in his predicament and did the impossible: lifted the car off Virgil’s chest.”

“Just like that?”

“Not exactly. She had the Lord’s help.”

“Thank you . . .”

“And there’s more. There are other good neighbors in Eden Hill who pitched in to help out in his time of need.
Like Cornelius Alexander
 
—” he pointed to Alexander’s
 
—“who ran his business for him while he was in the hospital.”

The reporter thanked him again, and the cameraman filmed both Osgood’s and Alexander’s, including the Nash that still sat askew in the service bay at Osgood’s. They left with footage for the evening news, after Welby had cleaned their windows and checked their oil.

The reverend would have stayed longer, but he had to meet with the lawyer in town for the reading of Madeline Crutcher’s will. The directions were clear; the meeting would take place in the attorney’s office on Market Street.

He was the last to arrive: Del Crutcher and his wife were already there, as were Del’s sister Virginia, another attorney representing Del’s sister Carolina, and Jeremiah Taggart. Two people from the courthouse were also present to serve as witnesses. Pleasantries were exchanged all around.

The lawyer started right in. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin.” He held a short but impressive-looking document. “Part the First. I, Madeline W. Crutcher, being of sound mind . . .”

Reverend Caudill suppressed a smile. He was open to debate about that.

“. . . do hereby bequeath, and so order the disposition of my estate upon my demise
 
—” the entire group leaned forward in rapt attention
 
—“the whole of my properties to be sold at public auction.”

They’d already done that. The anticipation was mounting. Reverend Caudill wondered why he was here. Might he
have to make peace if things turned ugly? He’d done enough of that already in the past month.

The lawyer turned to the second page and looked up. “I will interject here that the proceeds from the auction and the liquidation of her financial assets resulted in an estate of two hundred sixteen thousand, one hundred forty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents.”

Even Del’s eyes widened.

The reader continued, “Twenty-five percent of my estate I bequeath to my son, Delbert Crutcher.” Del sat up straight in his chair, receiving a hug from his wife.

The lawyer continued, “Ten percent of the estate I bequeath to my daughter Virginia Crutcher Cousins.”

Virginia smiled and began doing some figures on a notepad.

“Ten percent of the estate I bequeath to my daughter Carolina Crutcher Wilson.”

The other attorney smiled and made some notes of his own.

He continued. “Five percent of my estate I leave to my illegitimate son, Jeremiah Ezekiel Taggart.” The attorney paused and looked at the group over the top of his bifocals. “For the record, those were her exact words.”

Brother Taggart looked stunned but threw his hands into the air and shouted, “Praise the Lord for his mercies! He has provided.”

Reverend Caudill smiled. That ought to cover the old funeral home. He looked at his notes, where he’d been keeping a tally. This still left . . .

The designated reader took a drink from a glass of water. “The remainder of my estate I bequeath to the First Evangelical Baptist Church of Eden Hill, in honor of the Reverend Eugene Caudill, who has been an inspiration and ready help to me in my time of greatest need. So attested and executed this day, Friday the third of May, nineteen hundred sixty-three.”

Well. Reverend Caudill couldn’t speak, offer pastoral care, bless, or do much of anything else. He simply sat there, incredulous. Fifty percent of her estate, if he’d heard it right. And the amount? Something over one hundred thousand dollars? It would mean a new roof, replacement gutters, a well-behaved furnace, Sunday school rooms, missions. Those things and more. Even some help for his brothers and sisters in their purchase of the new Pentecostal Holiness church.

“Congratulations, Pastor!” Del was patting his shoulder and shaking his hand.

He looked around. Virginia and the other attorney had already gone, and Brother Taggart was rocking back and forth in his chair, continuing his praise to the Almighty.

The lawyer agreed to contact him for additional details regarding the transaction, and he as counsel and Del as executor would receive a nominal percentage, he’d said. It was still too much to fathom, but he was more than willing to try.

The drive back to Eden Hill was glorious. Even with the rain, the sky seemed brighter somehow, and some other things were much clearer as he returned to his office.

Madeline Crutcher, in death, had affirmed his ministry. What kind of woman was Madeline Crutcher? Even after all these years, he had to admit, to his own shame and regret, he didn’t know. But her bequest was one final act of goodness that would pave the way for many good things in their community.