Light From Heaven (14 page)
Authors: Jan Karon
He helped Agnes kneel by the altar on the bare pine floor.
“The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee,Agnes, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life.”
The old and familiar words came flowing back, easy and full of grace.
“Drink this in remembrance that Christ’s blood was shed for thee, and be thankful.”
At the conclusion of the service, he found himself distinctly moved by the bowed heads before him, and the view that swept his gaze full hundreds of miles to the west.
“The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord: And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you, and remain with you always.”
“Amen!”
“Brothers and sisters,” he said, as the congregants rose to leave, “please join Cynthia and me for a simple meal on the stone wall.” The idea had come to him quite out of the blue.
“It’s a picnic made for two, but God intended it for eight, which reminds me of the old table grace, ‘Heavenly Father, bless us and keep us all alive; there’s ten of us for dinner and not enough for five!’
“He has given us loaves and fishes this morning, that we might celebrate the beginning of our journey as a congregation, and offer thanks for a marvelous new chapter in the life of Holy Trinity.
“Now, let us go forth to do the work that He has given us to do.”
Three voices responded. “Thanks be to God!”
As he moved along the aisle in his purple Lenten vestments, he sensed in his soul the definite quickening of Easter.
“We started bringing things over yesterday evening,” Agnes said. “Twelve prayer books, the fair linen, and the old alms basin, and look how we had need of them all! Mr. Cowper made it perfectly clear that God works in mysterious ways.”
“So clear that many think his line of verse to be Holy Writ! Tell me, is it uncomfortable for you to kneel—I mean, with the cane, I thought ...”
“It is uncomfortable, but I shall kneel as long as I’m able—and as long as you’ll help me up again!”
He mingled with Agnes and the visitors as Cynthia unpacked the basket at the stone wall. “And where has Clarence got to? He was a dab hand at the candles, not to mention carrying the cross and passing the basin ...”
“He’s gone back to the house for a bit. He’s extremely shy; this is the most activity we’ve had at Holy Trinity in a very long time.”
Cynthia set out two thick sandwiches of sliced roast chicken on whole wheat, and cut them into eight pieces. Then she withdrew from the basket a jar of Lew Boyd’s bread-and-butter pickles and a chunk of white cheddar...
Walking with her cane, Agnes approached the wall. “Is there something I might do to help, Mrs. Kavanagh?”
“Will you please call me Cynthia?”
“Cynthia. That was my paternal grandmother’s name. And you’ll call me Agnes.”
“Agnes, what would we have done without you and Clarence?”
“You would have done perfectly well! May I introduce you to Granny Meaders and her grandson, Rooter?”
“Hey,” said Rooter, “can I have that ’un?”
“That one what?” asked Cynthia.
“That piece of sam’wich you jis’ cut.”
“That would be the biggest one.”
“Yeah. That ’un.”
“Well, I suppose since you’re the youngest, and still growing, you need it most.”
“An’ I’ll have me some of them cookies, too.”
“There’s no sugar in these cookies.”
“Pfaw I ain’t eatin’ ’em, then.”
“Granny,” Cynthia held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Hit’s nice t’meet you’ns. We was baptized at th’church what burnt down Christmas Eve. Hit was th’ wars.”
“The wars?”
“The wires,”said Agnes. “They were old. They say the church will be rebuilt, but farther down, in the valley.”
“Shall I call you Granny?” asked Cynthia.
“Ever’body does, honey.”
“Please take a napkin and I’ll pile on what we have. Would you like a pickle?”
“Are they sweet? My stomach cain’t hardly tolerate sour.”
“Yes, ma’am, they’re sweet. And here’s a cookie, and a slice of apple and a bit of cheese ...”
“I cain’t hardly chew nothin’.”
“She can
gum
it t’ death!” said Rooter, proud of such a skill.
gum
it t’ death!” said Rooter, proud of such a skill.
“... and of course, we have a lovely thermos of raspberry tea, but only two drinking cups. Rats in a poke!”
“What’s ’t you jis’said?”
“I said, ‘rats in a poke.’”
“Is that cussin’?”
“Well, sort of, I suppose.”
“’At ain’t what I say when I cuss.”
“Yes, but you could say ‘rats in a poke’ and get lots more attention than those words you’re alluding to. I mean, no one pays any attention to that old stuff anymore.”
“I got it licked about y’r tea. You’n th’ preacher could drink out one of them cups, me’n Granny could drink out th’ other’n.”
“What about everyone else?”
“Ol’ Robert he could drink after me’n Granny, an’ Mr. Goodnight, he could drink out of th’ lid of that bottle y’ got there.”
“Rooter,” said Agnes, “run along that path to the little house—not the big one, the little one, and ask Clarence for eight paper cups. If he’s not there, look over the sink at the back door. Eight! Run!”
Rooter ran.
His grandmother grinned, revealing pink gums. “Hit’s good y’ didn’t need n’more, he cain’t hardly count past ten.”
“Thank goodness I put these in!” Cynthia withdrew yet another comestible from the basket. “I packed for a celebration, and I was right!” She peeled away the foil and displayed two small apple fritters. “They’ll slice perfectly into eight small bites.”
“Lloyd Goodnight, this is Mrs. Kavanagh.”
“We welcome you, ma’am.” Lloyd Goodnight extended his large, rough hand.
“Lloyd came to this church as an infant.”
“I was baptized in Wilson’s Creek down yonder. An’ I was twelve year old when they closed th’ church. They wadn’t nobody around to come n‘more, ’cept my mama and daddy, an’ then we moved offa th’ mountain. I come back home to th’ ridge last year.”
Lloyd Goodnight looked pleased about his homecoming.
Cynthia served the pie onto napkins. “Did you enjoy the service this morning?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I did. It was me that pulled th’ bell.” Lloyd drew himself up, beaming.
“And well done, I must say!”
“I could’ve went on pullin’, but seem like we was all ready to get goin’.”
Cynthia laughed.
“I’ve missed our old church. I carried th’ cross when I was a boy, an’ done a lot of what Clarence done today. I can still hear th’ priest say, ‘Let us pray f‘r th’ whole state of Christ’s church.’ I thought that was a mighty big thing, to pray f’r th’ whole state of th’ church across all th” whole wide world.”
“Yes,” said Cynthia. “It is a mighty big thing. And we still need it in a mighty big way.”
“We have Robert Prichard over there,” said Agnes. “Robert, will you come and greet Mrs. Kavanagh?”
Robert, who had sat on the back row and hadn’t come to the rail for communion, was leaning against a tree, looking upon the gathering with an expressionless face. He was tall and lean, and wore a short-sleeve shirt that revealed numerous tattoos.
He took his time walking over. “Hey,” he said, putting his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
“Hey, yourself,” said Cynthia.
Rooter ran up, breathless, and surrendered the cups.
“Here!”
“Here!”
“Thank you, Rooter.” Cynthia lined up the cups on top of the wall. “I believe we’ll each have a half cup to the very drop. Agnes, will you pour?”
“I didn’t hardly know what t’ say in y’alls meetin’,” confessed Granny Meaders.
“Hit was all wrote down,” said Rooter. “Plain as day.”
“Them words was too little f’r me t’ half see.”
Cynthia was digging slices of pickle from the jar and putting one on top of each sandwich. “I didn’t hear you speak up, Mister Rooter.”
“I ain’t a-goin’ t’ read out loud in front of nobody.”
“He was held back two year in ’is grades,” said Granny.
“An’ I ain’t a-goin’ back t’ that school after I git done in August, neither.”
“Where d’you think you’re a-goin’?” asked Granny.
“T’ hell an’ back before I go down th’ mountain in a
bus,
I can tell y’ that.”
bus,
I can tell y’ that.”
Cynthia held forth a laden napkin. “Robert...”
Robert took it, wordless.
“I hope you‘uns don’t mind me wearin’ m’ bedroom slippers,” said Granny. As everyone peered at her open-toed slippers, she wiggled her digits beneath wool socks. “I cain’t hardly wear reg’lar shoes n’more, my feet swells s’bad.”
Cynthia nodded. “I understand perfectly!”
“I ain’t never seen a preacher in a dress,” said Rooter. “How come ’e was wearin’ a dress?”
Now disrobed, Father Tim strolled into the midst of the party in his favorite gray suit. “Let’s thank the good Lord for our loaves and fishes! Shall we wait for Clarence?”
“He wouldn’t want us to wait,” said Agnes. “I’m sure he’ll come along in a while.”
But Clarence didn’t come along.
“Senior dry food only,” said Blake Eddistoe. “This fella’s been living too high.”
“I figured it might come to this.”
“We need to get about seven pounds off his frame. Hip dysplasia is aggravated by weight gain, and of course the extra weight isn’t good for his heart. I believe you said he’s what, ten, eleven?”
“He was young when he came to me; I don’t know his age exactly, but yes, I figure eleven years.”
“More romps in the pasture wouldn’t hurt the old boy.”
“Wouldn’t hurt this old boy, either,” said the vicar, who hadn’t a clue where he’d find time to romp in a pasture.
Other books
Hard to Hold by Katie Rose
Ocean Without End by Kelly Gardiner
Veiled Threat by Shannon Mayer
Cut Me Free by J. R. Johansson
El ruido de las cosas al caer by Juan Gabriel Vásquez
Saved by an Angel by Doreen, Virtue, calibre (0.6.0b7) [http://calibre.kovidgoyal.net]
Revive Me (Say Something Book 3) by Rodgers, Salice
Seducing a Scottish Bride by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates by Tom Robbins
Zero History by William Gibson
