The Bass Wore Scales (26 page)

“
Okay, then,” said Gaylen. “We’ve got quite an agenda to get through, so let’s get started. Billy, would you open the meeting with a prayer?”

“
Huh?” said Billy. “Do what?”

“
Open the meeting with a prayer,” she repeated, closing her eyes and folding her hands in front of her, a smile playing on her lips. We all bowed our heads as well.

I’d never heard Billy pray in public before. Oh, I’d heard him ask the Lord, in no uncertain terms, to smite a few of his clients and to cast Holy Wrath upon eighty-year-old bad drivers, but that was a hop and a skip from praying in front of clergy.

“
Uh…” started Billy. “Hey God. This here’s Billy. Billy Hixon. Umm…if you could do something about those fire ants on the front lawn, we’d all appreciate it. Also, bless this meeting and the hands that fixed it.”

“
Amen,” said Gaylen.

“
Amen,” we echoed.

“
First order of business,” said Gaylen, looking down at her notes. “Who orders the coffee around here? It’s awful!”

“
We’ve got about forty pounds of coffee that Father George got us,” said Georgia. “It’s in the kitchen. He said that if we ordered it in bulk, we’d get a better price.”

“
It’s virtually undrinkable. Let’s throw it out,” said Gaylen, “and get back on the Community Coffee delivery plan. All in favor?”

“
Aye,” came the answer.

“
All opposed?”

“
I don’t think you should throw it out,” started Brenda, aka Princess Foo-Foo. “What a waste of money! Don’t you think…”

“
Doesn’t matter,” said Gaylen, sweetly. “Motion carried and approved. Second order of business, the crowds on Sunday. Billy?”

“
It’s gettin’ really bad,” Billy said. “There’s just too many folks. I mean, it’s a good thing, but what’s going to happen if we keep on?”

“
How many did we have last Sunday?” I asked.

“
Four hundred and thirty-three,” said Billy. “We’re putting chairs up everywhere. And we’re running out of cookies at coffee hour after the service.”

“
How many can we seat comfortably?” asked Gaylen.

“
About three hundred,” said Billy.

“
I’ll take care of the cookie problem,” said Joyce. “But how long do we expect that racecar driver to keep winning?”

“
I’ve got no idea,” said Billy. “That Holy Water is really doing the trick. I’m thinking we should bottle it, bless it and sell it on the NASCAR circuit.”

“
Sorry,” said Gaylen. “My blessings aren’t for sale. This isn’t a Catholic church, you know. With that many people, we need to hire another sexton.” She turned to Bev. “Do we have the money?”

“
Sure,” said Bev. “I’ll put an ad in the paper.”

“
What about a second service?” said Georgia. “We could have it at 8:30. You know, before Sunday School. At least for the summer.”

“
It’s something to think about,” said Gaylen. “Let’s not announce it just yet. Maybe the furor will calm down a little. But if we’re still at capacity in July, we’ll start another service. All in favor?”

“
Aye,” came the answers from around the table.

“
But don’t you think we should form a committee to look at the long range…” began Princess Foo-Foo.

“
Sorry. The motion has been carried,” said Gaylen. “Now, what about some new service music for the Eucharist?” She looked over at me. “Can we come up with something different? I like the stuff in the hymnal, but we’ve been singing it for twenty years.”

“
I’ll see what I can come up with,” I said.

“
Great!” she said, making another check on her pad. “You’ll have to teach it to the congregation. I don’t want to be the only one singing. Item four. Vacation Bible School. Brenda, what are our plans?”

“
I…uh…I don’t have any actual plans yet…” said Brenda. “Father George and I decided that it was better to concentrate on our Sunday School program.”

“
I see,” said Gaylen. “Okay, what do you have planned for our Sunday School program?”

“
Well…Father George and I were working on it, but then he left. I really don’t have anything.”

“
Tell you what,” said Gaylen. “Let’s have a Vacation Bible School for the kids. A one-afternoon event. Let’s say a week from Saturday, noon to four. Marilyn, you put it in the newsletter and print up some flyers.” Marilyn nodded and jotted some notes on her pad.

“
Brenda, you go ahead and plan it. I’ll expect you to have some ideas on my desk Monday morning. Okay?” She looked around the table. “That’s it then. Let us pray.”

We all bowed our heads, and I snuck a look at my watch. It was 3:43.

“
Grant, O Lord, that we may follow the example of your faithful servant Barnabas, who, seeking not his own renown but the well-being of your Church, gave generously of his life and substance for the relief of the poor and the spread of the Gospel; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

“
Amen,” we all repeated.

* * *

“
Wow!” said Georgia, after we’d all dispersed. “I think that was the most efficient church meeting I’ve ever attended.”

“
I didn’t mind that at all,” I said. “But somehow—and I don’t remember exactly how it happened—I volunteered to find some new service music and teach it to the congregation.”

“
Yeah,” said Georgia. “She’s got me heading a task force to start a Habitat for Humanity house. She invited me for a cup of coffee and that’s the last thing I remember till the North Carolina Habitat office called me the next day.” Georgia smiled. “Maybe she’s a witch.”

“
Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “Did I agree to playing for a second service on Sunday mornings?”

“
Yep. I think so.”

“
She’s a witch.”

“
I like her though.”

“
Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”

Chapter 16

It was 8:30 by the time Moosey and I got to the lake—a late start to be sure, but I was hopeful.

“
We’re gonna get Ol’ Spikey today, aren’t we?” said Moosey.

“
Old Spiney,” I corrected. “I think his name is Old Spiney. Anyway, yeah, I’m hoping we’ll get him.”

We got our gear squared away in Pete’s rowboat, put our life jackets on and shoved off into the still water.

“
Did you fix dinner for Miss Farthing last night?” asked Moosey, as I pulled on the oars, propelling us into the middle of the lake.

“
Yep. I did. Now I’m off the hook for a while.”

“
Off the hook,” chuckled Moosey. “That’s funny. ‘Cause we’re fishin’. What did you fix anyway?”

“
Some kebobs and a salad.”

“
I like macaroni,” said Moosey. “You know how to cook that?”

“
Nope. I could read the directions, I suppose.”

“
I can cook it myself, but I like it better when Mama does it. When I eat it, I pretend that it’s cheesy worms!” Moosey laughed.

“
Here,” I said, handing Moosey his pole. “Put a cheesy worm on that hook and let’s get it in the water. Maybe Old Spiney will like it as much as you like macaroni.”

I decided to go with a lure that Pete suggested called a Walking Worm. It had worked twice for him, but the fish snapped the line both times. With this in mind, I’d also ordered some new 20 lb. test microfilament line that, according to the manufacturer, was a lot less likely to break. I had my line in the water and was just starting to relax when I heard a roar overhead.

“
Look at that!” exclaimed Moosey. “Its an old-timey airplane!”

“
It’s Five-Dollar Frank,” I said, “He’ll give you a ride for five dollars. And that’s called a biplane. Look. It has two wings on each side—one on top of the other.” We looked up at the bright yellow plane glinting in the sun. “He does crop-dusting sometimes. Wave at him. Maybe he’ll wave back.”

Moosey put down his pole, stood up in the boat and waved and hollered for all he was worth. Frank brought the plane in low over the lake and waggled his wings in reply.

“
He did it! He waved at us!” said Moosey. “Hey, what’s that behind the plane?”

“
He’s got a banner behind it,” I said. “That’s what he’s up to. He’s advertising for someone. Can you read it?”

“
Naw. He’s comin’ straight at us. Wait. Now I can. It says ‘We Got Worms.’ What’s that mean?”

I laughed. “He’s advertising for Uncle Jerry’s Bait Shop in Boone. That’s what their big sign says on the highway. ‘We Got Worms.’”

“
Maybe we should get some worms from Uncle Jerry. I mean, they might be
professional
worms.”

I chuckled. “Let’s see how we do today before we bring in the professional worms.”

* * *

“
What do you think’s going to happen to Kokomo?” asked Moosey, once our lines were back in the water. Moosey was letting his pole rest over the side of the boat, but I’d cast my lure about thirty yards toward the shallows and was reeling it slowly in.

“
I hope he’ll be okay,” I said. “Maybe the governor will let him go since it was an accident.”

“
That’s good. When will y’all find out?”

“
The governor said he’d call on Monday.”

“
You know the governor? That’s cool!”

“
I’ve met him a couple of…Hey! I’ve got a bite!” I yanked hard on my line to set the hook. My Walking Worm had done its job and the line cut a furrow in the surface of the water as the big fish took off toward the middle of the lake. I let some line out with a heavy drag to slow him down and wear him out.

“
You got him! You got him!” shouted Moosey, dropping his own pole and grabbing the back of my shirt. “Reel him in! Don’t let him get away!”

I felt the line go slack, but I wasn’t buying it. I’d set the hook pretty well and I suspected that the fish was heading back toward the rowboat. I started to reel in the line, trying to keep pace with him, but he was fast. Too fast.

“
He’s coming back toward us,” I said. “He’s a smart one, and he’s got a plan.”

“
But you’re reeling him in,” said Moosey. “He’ll be at the boat in a second.”

I nodded and wound the line back onto the spinner as fast as I could. We watched as the line cut back across the water toward the boat, but by the time I’d caught up with him, he was directly underneath us.

“
He’s right under us!” exclaimed Moosey. “We’ve got him now! That’s for sure!”

I reeled in the line as far as I could and felt the tension as the end of the pole dipped toward the lake.