Out to Canaan (37 page)

Dooley colored slightly. He thought for a moment, then said, “So let me drive your car this weekend.”

Blast if it didn't fly out of his mouth. “Consider it done!”

“Low-fat meat loaf, hot from the oven!” he announced, setting the sizzling platter on the table.

Louella wrinkled her nose. “Low-fat? Pass it on by, honey, you can
skip
this chile!”

“Don't skip this 'un,” said Harley.

“He was only kidding,” Cynthia declared. “In truth, it contains everything our doctors ever warned us about.”

He saw the light in Pauline's face, the softness of expression as she looked upon her scrubbed and freckled children. Thanks be to God! Three out of five . . . .

He sat down, feeling expansive, and shook out one of the linen napkins left behind, he was amused to recall, by an old bishop who once lived here.

He waited until all hands were clasped, linking them together in a circle.

“Our God and our Father, we thank You!” he began.

“Thank You, Jesus!” boomed Louella in happy accord.

“We thank You with full hearts for this family gathered here tonight, and ask Your mercy and blessings upon all those who hunger, not only for sustenance, but for the joy, the peace, and the one true salvation which You, through Your Son, freely offer . . . .”

They had just said “Amen!” when the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it! And for heaven's sake, don't wait for me. Who on earth . . .” Cynthia trotted down the hall to the door.

Father Tim passed the platter to Louella and was starting the potatoes around when he heard Cynthia coming back to the kitchen, a heavy tread in her wake.

“You'll never guess who's here!” said his wife.

Buck Leeper stepped awkwardly into the doorway. In the small, close kitchen, his considerable presence was arresting.

Good Lord! Finding Buck a place to stay had gone completely out
of his head. It hadn't entered his mind again since he called Mule. He was mortified.

He stood up, nearly knocking his chair to the floor.

“Good timing, Buck! We'll set another plate, there's more than plenty. Good to see you!” He pumped Buck's large, callused hand. “You remember Louella, Miss Sadie's friend and companion. And Dooley, you remember Dooley.”

Buck nodded. “Dooley . . .”

“Hey.”

“And this is Harley Welch, Harley lives with us, and there's Pauline, Dooley's mother—as I recall, you brought her a rose when she was in the hospital.”

Buck flushed and glanced at the floor.

Rats. He shouldn't have said that. “This is Dooley's brother Poo, and this is Jessie, his sister.”

Poobaw grinned at Buck.

“I'm hungry!” said Jessie.

“This is Buck Leeper, everybody, the man who did such a splendid job at Hope House. Can you believe he was born just up the road from me in Mississippi? Keep the potatoes passing, Dooley, there's the gravy. Ah, I see we forgot to set out the butter for the rolls! Buck, I hope you're hungry, we've got enough for an army. Here, take this chair, we're glad to have you back in Mitford! Louella, have you got room over there? Dooley, scoot closer to your sister . . . .”

What a workout. He was exhausted.

“Please sit down, Mr. Leeper,” said his smiling wife, taking over.

Dooley had taken Poo and Jessie to his room; Cynthia, Louella, and Pauline were making tea and coffee; and the men had gone into the study.

“What it was,” said Harley, “Junior liked t' run on dirt better'n asphalt, which is why they called 'im th' Mud Dobber. One ol' boy said how th' law was tryin' t' jump Junior, said Junior cut out th'ough a cornfield in a '58 Pontiac with th' winders down, said he plowed th'ough about a ten-acre stand of corn 'til he come out th' other
side an' looked around an' 'is whole backseat was full of roastin' ears.”

Buck laughed the laugh that sounded, to the rector, like a kettle boiling.

“Harley, you ought to tell Buck about your services as a mechanic. There'll be a lot of vehicles on the Lord's Chapel job.”

“Yes, sir, I work on most anything with wheels, but I don't touch earth-movin' equipment. Course, I'm goin' t' be tied up pretty good, I'm cleanin' out 'is missus's basement and garage, then startin' on th' attic up yonder.” Harley pointed to the ceiling. “Hit ain't been touched since one of them old bishops lived here.”

Pauline came to the door of the study. Jessie was right, thought the rector, she's pretty.

“Excuse me . . .”

“Are you ready for us?” he asked.

She smiled. “Yes, sir. Cynthia said please come in.”

Buck stood up from the wing chair, gazing at Pauline.

Father Tim saw that he appeared, for a moment, as eager and expectant as a boy.

“I couldn't do that,” said Buck.

“Well, you see . . . the truth is, you have to. I looked for a place for you to live and ran into a dead end, and, well, first thing you know, I forgot to keep looking, and there you have it, you're stuck with us—the sheets are clean and the toilet flushes.”

Buck laughed. At least he was laughing . . . .

He showed Buck to the guest room at the top of the stairs, where the superintendent's size somehow made the space much smaller. Buck chewed a toothpick, and carefully scanned the room and its adjoining bath.

“I believe you'll be comfortable, and don't worry about a thing. We'll have you out of here in no time, into a place of your own.”

“If you're sure . . .”

“More than sure! Oh. By the way—do you play softball?”

Buck took the toothpick out of his mouth. “I've kicked more tail on a softball field than I ever kicked on a construction site. Before I
hired on with Emil, I coached softball for a construction outfit in Tucson. The last couple of years I was there, we won every game, two seasons in a row.”

Dooley suddenly appeared at the guest room door.

“I'm on his team,” he said.

Buck offered to deliver Pauline and the children, while he took Louella to Hope House.

“I had a big time,” said Louella, looking misty-eyed. “You and Miss Cynthia, you're family.”

“Always will be,” he said, meaning it.

At the door of Room Number One, he kissed her goodnight, loving the vaguely cinnamon smell of her cheek that had something of home in it.

Emma looked at him over her half-glasses.

“I guess you're hot about Snickers runnin' you off the other day.”

“You might say that.”

“How did I know you'd bring Barnabas to work? You never do, anymore. And besides, Snickers has never been here but twice, it seems like he
deserved
a turn . . . .”

“Ummm.”

“Emily Hastings called, she said she has an axe to pick with you.”

An axe to grind, a bone to pick, what difference did it make?

“Esther Bolick called, said things are looking up, Hessie Mayhew's th' biggest help since Santa's elves.”

“Good.”

“Hal Owen called, said it's time for Barnabas to get his shots.”

“Right.”

“Evie Adams called, guess what Miss Pattie's done now?”

“Can't guess,” he said curtly, taking the cover off his Royal manual.

“She goes up and down the halls at Hope House, stealing the Jell-O off everybody's trays.”

“That's a lot of Jell-O.”

“Don't you care?”

“About what?”

“Stealing from old people.”

“Miss Pattie is old people.”

“So?”

He would like nothing better than to knock his secretary in the head. “So they have a staff of forty-plus at Hope House, I'm sure they can come up with some kind of curtailment of her behavior.”

“Some kind of what?”

He didn't answer.

“How can you
use
that old thing?” she asked, glaring at his Royal manual.

He refused to respond.

There was a long silence as she peered at her computer monitor, and he rolled a sheet of paper into the carriage of his machine.