At Home in Mitford (9 page)

The rector put Barnabas on his longest leash. Not only would this give him freedom to thrash about in the bath, it would keep him from bounding into the street if the new setup alarmed him.

Unfortunately, this would prove to be the worst idea he’d had in a very long time.

He was pleased with his location of the tub. The little clearing was shielded from the street by the laurels, and afforded him plenty of elbow room. As soon as Barnabas was bathed, he thought, he’d rub him down with a towel, then lead him into the garage where he could finish drying off and make himself presentable.

Attaching the looped end of the leash to a laurel branch high over his head, he encouraged Barnabas to get into the water, which he’d liberally sudsed with Joy.

Instead, Barnabas hurled himself into the tub with a mighty leap.

Just as quickly as he went in, he came out, diving between the rector’s legs. He circled his right leg and plunged back into the water, soaking his master from head to foot.

Then, he leaped out of the tub, raced again between Father Tim’s legs, joyfully dashed around his left ankle, and headed for a laurel bush.

It seemed to the rector that it all happened within a matter of seconds. And while his memory searched wildly for a Scripture, nothing came forth.

Barnabas circled the bush at a dead heat, catching the leash in the crotch of a lower limb, and was brought to an abrupt halt.

The tautly drawn leash had run out. Barnabas was trapped on the bush. And each of the rector’s ankles was tightly bound.

Shaken, Father Tim observed this set of circumstances from a sitting position, and in the most complete state of shock he could remember.

Miraculously, he was still wearing his glasses.

Barnabas was now lying down, though the leash was caught so tightly in the tree that he could not lower his head. He stared at Father Tim, obviously suffering the misery of remorse. Then, his contrition being so deep that he could not bear to look his master in the eye, he appeared to fall into a deep sleep.

The rector began spontaneously to preach one of the most electrifying sermons of his career.

His deep memory bank of Holy Scripture came flooding back, and the power of his impassioned exhortation made the hair fairly bristle on the black dog’s neck. In fact, Barnabas opened his eyes and listened intently to every word.

When his oration ended, the rector felt sufficiently relieved to try and figure out what to do.

He could see it now. His guests ringing the doorbell, finally coming inside, searching the house, calling out the back door, and then spying him in this miserable condition, while the stew pot sat cold on the stove.

No wonder so many people these days had heart fibrillations, high blood pressure, and a thousand other stress-related diseases. No doubt all of these people were dog owners.

Lord, be thou my helper, he prayed.

“Father Tim! Is that you back there?”

Avis Packard came crashing through the laurel hedge, looked down at his good customer, and said, without blinking, “I let you get away without your butter. Do you want me to put it in the refrigerator or just leave it right here?”

Fortunately, the washtub incident had put him only an hour off schedule.

The stew was on and simmering, and the fragrance in the rectory was intoxicating. The old walnut dining table gleamed under the chandelier and cast a soft glow over a silver bowl of yellow roses tinged with crimson. The cabernet sparkled in cut-glass decanters, the strains of a Mozart sonata filled the rooms with an air of expectancy, and in the fading afternoon light, the gardens looked fresh and inviting from every window.

He felt rather fresh and inviting, himself, having shaved and showered. Also, he was wearing his new sport coat.

He hadn’t come up with two more guests who would perfectly fit in, but he saw this as an advantage. Tonight’s little gathering would be relaxed and intimate, like family, and all would get a chance to know each other better.

At 6:45, the bell rang, and while the invitation was for 7:00, he was ready and waiting. He opened the door to see Miss Rose and Uncle Billy, standing on the porch holding hands and dressed in their best finery.

“Preacher,” said Uncle Billy, grinning broadly, “we didn’t know if you was ever goin’ to visit us, so we come t’ visit you.”

Emma arrived at 7:00 sharp, parking her lilac Oldsmobile in the rectory drive. Hoppy Harper’s old Volvo station wagon pulled in behind her.

Emma glanced furtively in the rearview mirror to see whether she was wearing enough eye shadow, as Hoppy walked up to open her door. She thought he looked surprisingly boyish in a cotton sweater and khakis.

When Father Tim greeted them on the porch stoop, Emma was so delighted to see her rector in a new jacket that she gave him a big hug and an air kiss that sounded something like “Ummmwah!”

Then she walked into the living room.

There, seated on the antique Chippendale sofa, were Miss Rose and Uncle Billy Watson, sipping a glass of sherry.

Miss Rose was wearing lisle stockings rolled below her knees, a pair of unlaced saddle oxfords, three World War II decorations on the front of her dress, a great deal of rouge, and a cocktail hat with a veil.

Uncle Billy had on a suit that had belonged to his brother-in-law, with a vest and a gold watch chain. A broad grin revealed his gold tooth, which coordinated handsomely.

“Emma, Hoppy, have a chair,” said their host, as serene as a cherub. “And will you have a glass of sherry?”

“Make it a double,” said the astounded Emma.

Miss Sadie arrived with Hal and Marge, who had fetched her down from Fernbank.

She carried a small shopping bag that contained several items for her rector’s freezer: two Swanson’s chicken pies, one package of Sarah Lee fruit turnovers, and a box of Eggos. This was what Miss Sadie considered a proper hostess gift when the Baxter apples were not in season.

Marge was busy hugging one and all, including Miss Rose, who did not relish a hug.

Hal was talking with Hoppy and Uncle Billy about baseball, and Miss Sadie was chattering with Emma.

Why, it’s a real celebration already, the rector thought happily, seeing two golden finches dart toward the feeder.

“Miss Sadie, your apple trees have been the prettiest I’ve ever seen,” Marge said, taking a glass of mineral water from her host.

“Do you know carloads of people have driven by the orchards this year? They’ve been a regular tourist attraction! And somebody from over at Wesley stopped to ask if they could get married under the trees that back up to Church Hill.”

“What did you say?”

“I said when do you think it might be, and she said she didn’t know, he hadn’t asked her yet!”

Their host brought in a tray of cheese and crackers. He refused to serve anything that had to be dipped. He thought dipping at parties was perilous, to say the very least. If you didn’t drip dip on yourself, you were likely to drip it on someone else. He’d once had a long conversation with his new bishop, only to look down afterward and discover that his shirt front displayed a regular assortment of the stuff, including bacon and onion.

That he did not serve dip seemed especially convenient for Miss Rose, who took two of everything offered, eating one and putting the other in her dress pocket. Uncle Billy, on the other hand, took two of everything and ate both at once.

As he passed around the mushrooms in puff pastry, Miss Sadie was admiring Miss Rose’s military decorations.

He had to admit that he’d never given a party quite like this.

The Company Stew, which had simmered with the peel of an orange and a red onion stuck with cloves, was a rousing success. In fact, he was so delighted with the whole affair that he relented and let Barnabas into the study after dinner.

Marge helped serve coffee and triple-layer cake from the old highboy, as the scent of roses drifted through the open windows.

Barnabas, meanwhile, was a model of decorum and lay next to his master’s wing chair, occasionally wagging his tail.

“You must have quoted this dog the whole book of Deuteronomy,” said Emma, who still refused to call him by name.

“This dog,” he said crisply, “is grounded.”

“Uh oh,” said Hal. “I guess that means no TV for a week?”

"No TV, no pizza, no talking on the phone.”

“Ogre!” said Marge.

“What did the big guy do, anyway?” Hoppy wondered, leaning over to scratch Barnabas behind the ears.

“I’m afraid it’s unspeakable, actually.”

“Oh, good!” exclaimed Miss Sadie. “Then tell us everything.”

Miss Sadie enjoyed the bath story so much, she brought out a lace handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

Miss Rose, however, was not amused. “I leave dogs alone.”

“Nope, dogs leave you alone,” said her husband.

“Whatever,” said Miss Rose, with a wave of her hand.

Hoppy set his dessert plate on the hearth, then leaned back and stretched his long legs. He looked fondly at his elderly patient of nearly a decade. “Uncle Billy, I’d sure like to hear a joke, if you’ve got one.”

Uncle Billy grinned. “Did you hear the one about the skydivin’ lessons?”

“I hope you didn’t get this from Harry Nelson,” said Emma, who didn’t like Harry Nelson jokes, not even secondhand.

“Nossir. I got this joke off a feller at the Grill. He was drivin’ through from Texas.”

Everyone settled back happily, and Miss Rose gave Uncle Billy the go-ahead by jabbing him in the side with her elbow.

“Well, this feller, he wanted to learn to skydive, don’t you know. And so he goes to this school and he takes all kind of trainin’ and all, and one day comes the time he has to jump out of this airplane, and out he goes, like a ton of bricks, and he gets on down there a little ways and commences to pull th’ cord and they don’t nothin’ happen, don’t you know, and so he keeps on droppin’ and he switches over and starts pullin’ on his emergency cord, and they still don’t nothin’ happen, an’ th’ first thing you know, here comes this other feller, a shootin’ up from the ground, and the feller goin’ down says, ‘Hey, Buddy, do you know anything about parachutes?’ And the one a comin’ up says, ‘Nope, do you know anything about gas stoves?’ ”

Uncle Billy looked around proudly. He would have considered it an understatement to say that everyone roared with laughter.

“I’ve heard that bloomin’ tale forty times,” Miss Rose said, removing a slice of cheese from her pocket and having it with her coffee.

Miss Sadie followed her host into the kitchen. “I’m just having the best time in the world, Father!”

“You and me both!” he said, measuring out some more coffee beans.

“I want to have you up to lunch soon. There’s something I’d like to talk with you about that’s been on my mind for a long while.”

It was rare, indeed, for Miss Sadie to have anyone up to Fernbank for anything these days. “It’s not another find from your attic, is it?”

“Oh my, no. It’s much more important than that!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, putting his arm around her frail shoulders. “You know, we’re supposed to hear something about our painting next week.”

“Yes, I know. And I hope you won’t think this is awful of me . . .”

“What’s that?”

“I dearly hope it’s not a Vermeer.”

He knew precisely what she meant. Although he’d never said it to a soul, that was his hope as well.

“That was Papa’s painting. I remember when he brought it home and we hung it on the wall downstairs. We all stepped back and just stared for hours. It was a real painting from Europe! I’d dearly love to see it on the wall in Lord’s Chapel.”

“And so would I,” he said kindly.

As she went back to the study, Hal joined him, and the two men walked out to the back stoop. The air was balmy, and sweet with springtime.

“Fine dinner, Tim.”

“Thanks. It’s great to be back in circulation.”

“Diabetes seems to be doing you more good than harm.” Hal sat on the railing and tamped the tobacco in his pipe. “About that job on the vestry,” he said, “let me put it this way: A hundred and seventy acres, a full-time practice, five dogs, two horses, fifteen cows, an old farmhouse that needs a lot of work, and an increasingly pregnant fifty-year-old wife.”

“Enough said.”

“The timing isn’t right . . . and those trips into town at night . . . You know I want to serve, I want to do something more. Just remember that I have in the past and I will in the future.”

Father Tim nodded. “When you can, Hal. You know I’d like you to be our senior warden.”

Hal puffed on his pipe and nodded thoughtfully. They heard a dog bark in the distance, and a train whistle. “You know that pony that got caught in the fence? We put a saddle on him today.”

“Great news! That’s been on my mind.”

As the coffee finished brewing, they went inside. “You want a good man on the vestry,” Hal said with a low chuckle, “recruit Uncle Billy. He’ll loosen that crowd up.”

Father Tim poured fresh coffee into every cup. “Miss Sadie,” he said, “I’ve been hoping you’d tell us tonight about your schooling in Paris.”

“Oh, do you really want to hear that old stuff?”

“Yes!” said Marge, curling up on the sofa next to Hal. Even Barnabas assumed an air of expectancy. And Emma noticed that Hoppy Harper, who was sitting in Father Tim’s wing chair, was as relaxed “as a dishrag,” she later said.

“I hardly know where to begin, it’s been so long. But, if you’re sure . . .”

Everyone was absolutely sure.

“Well, then,” she said, sitting even more upright, and squaring her shoulders. “Paris, France, was where I fell in love.”

Miss Sadie paused for a moment, her face beaming, and looked around the room. Father Tim saw at once that the truest meaning of the term
captive audience
was being demonstrated right before his eyes.