Suncatchers (34 page)

Suddenly Willard lunged sideways, then immediately straightened and leaned back. The boat rocked crazily. “I got something!” he yelled. Perry and Joe Leonard watched as Willard fought to keep the fish. “Oh, no, you don't,” he said, clenching his teeth and snapping the rod tip up. “Come on out of that brush pile, big guy.” Perry watched Willard strain backward and forward, heard him grunting and chuckling. “Come on, there, brother, come see me.” At last he sat back down and quit reeling but still kept the line pulled taut. “That's what's good about a rod like this, see,” he said to Perry. “It'll give just enough so the fish doesn't throw the lure. Now I've got him out in the open, see, and I'll just let him wear himself out.”

Later, after Willard had accomplished what he called “pulling that head over” and had swung the fish into the boat, clamping its lower jaw with his giant thumb, Joe Leonard sprang forward to help him remove the hook. “When he starts to jump, see, you've got only a second to do it!” Willard said, breathing hard. “Now that's a fine fish there,” he said, then emitted a war whoop and lifted his eyes heavenward. “Thank you, dear Lord, for what you did on the fifth day of creation!” He held the fish within inches of Perry's face. “Must be a four-pounder, wouldn't you say?”

Perry suddenly remembered Dr. Holland holding Troy up in the delivery room almost nine years ago. “Bet he's an eight-pounder if he's an ounce!” the doctor had said. Looking at the fish now, Perry wondered if Dr. Holland had been a fisherman. He could still picture Troy wriggling and arching his back, his small face livid with passion, his tiny chest heaving with every outraged gasp of air. Perry narrowed his eyes and focused hard on the fish. It writhed and flipped its tail wildly. Willard was looking at Perry like a proud father, as if expecting a compliment.

Perry smiled and nodded. “Oh, at least four pounds,” he said.

An hour later, after they had fished all around a little island, they heard the whistle signal to start for shore.

Willard took a series of short, choppy breaths, then exhaled loudly with a satisfied “Ahhh!” He pounded lightly on his chest and looked toward the sky. “It doesn't get much better than this—fishing on a summer night!” He took the oars and expertly swung the boat around, then began rowing swiftly toward shore. “I appreciate you two taking me in,” he said jovially. “It's never as much fun going fishing by yourself.”

“I imagine,” Perry said, though he wasn't so sure about that.

“Yep, when I called Joe Leonard and asked him if he was going with anybody today, I was one disappointed angler, I'll tell you. Then when he called back later and suggested we make it a threesome, I jumped at the bait—just like my buddy here,” and he nodded toward the bass on the stringer.

Perry looked back over the lake. It looked smaller now with the tall pines reflected like a velvety fringe around the edge of the water. Up on shore he could see the others climbing out of boats, could hear their laughter and the gentle thumping of the boats being roped to the dock. The campfire was burning brighter now in preparation for the marshmallows and the devotional time. Brother Hawthorne was bending over Levi, unfastening the boy's life jacket.
“Abruptly bereft of the strongest male influence in his life”
—all at once Perry remembered where he had heard it. It was from a radio talk Brother Hawthorne had given a couple of weeks earlier. He had been telling the story of a missionary child in Uruguay whose father was killed in a plane crash.

As Willard eased the boat up to the dock, Perry saw in his mind the face of a little boy crying for his father. At first it was a face he didn't know—some nameless, grieving child. Then he saw it change into his own face as a small boy, withdrawn and frightened—a little boy left to grow up in a house with two women. Then into his mind came the image of Joe Leonard's face—a younger version, his hair in ragged tufts about his freckled face, large tears swelling in his blue eyes. Little boys “abruptly bereft” of their fathers—what a sad thought. As Perry stepped out of the boat onto the solid dock, he saw another face: that of Troy—his own son—crying out in the night, his eyes wide with terror.

Perry stood absolutely still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He felt as if someone had sunk a fist into his stomach. A man could fail at so many things and get by, but to fail as a father—that was unforgivable.

“Here we are, Perry,” Willard said, touching his elbow. “Hey, you all right? You look a little—well,
worried
or something.”

“No, no. I'm . . . I'm fine, really,” Perry said, forcing a weak smile. He released the clasp on the front of his life jacket.

“Well, don't feel bad,” Willard said, clapping his back and throwing a heavy arm around his shoulder, “I didn't catch anything either the first half-dozen times I fished this lake.” Together, they walked off the dock toward the campfire, Joe Leonard following behind.

23

One of the Best Gifts

“Thank you for coming,” Brother Hawthorne said the next night, shaking Perry's hand at the door. “Edna and I have been talking about having you over ever since you came. We're ashamed it's taken this long.”

Perry shook his head. “Don't be. The time's gone fast, and we've all been busy. And anyway,” he said, waving his hand back toward the dining room table where the plates were already scraped clean and stacked on one corner, “this was worth waiting for.” There, that wasn't bad, he thought. The words hadn't gotten blocked up as they often did between his mind and his tongue. Edna smiled at him from behind her husband, and the three children peered up at him solemnly.

“I'll walk you to your car,” Brother Hawthorne said, stepping around Perry to open the screen door. Perry thanked Edna again, patted Levi's head, and followed Brother Hawthorne down the steps.

“Oh, here, let me show you something first,” Brother Hawthorne said, motioning to the side of the house. Inside the garage, he pointed upward and aimed a pocket flashlight toward one of the crossbeams. In the dim light Perry could barely make out what looked like a small thatch of grass.

“A nest?” he asked.

Brother Hawthorne nodded. “Doves—it's been fun for the children.”

As Perry's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the outline of a bird in the nest, a vigilant mother twisting her head. Or he supposed it was the mother. If it was, where was the father? It was late to be out flying around. Maybe male doves were notoriously inconstant, wandering about seeking new mates after every new batch of eggs. But surely not. They seemed too genteel and peaceable for that sort of lifestyle. Maybe the father was out gathering provisions for the nest. Or perhaps the female had thrown him out of the nest with some shrewish complaint—“Why don't you
coo
to me more?”

“How's your book coming?” Brother Hawthorne asked.

“Oh, it's taking shape,” Perry said. “Thank you for tonight—letting me sit in on the deacons' meeting before church, I mean. That was . . . well, I know you don't usually allow that.”

Brother Hawthorne laughed quietly. “They're not very exciting, are they?”

Perry didn't answer. Standing there in the dark, he heard the weak cheep of a baby bird. That must be it. The father dove was out finding food. But didn't birds do that during the day?

Brother Hawthorne imitated the low triple coo of the dove's call. “That's how they sound. You hear them all the time around here. Those and Carolina wrens”—he whistled a brilliant trill followed by a shrill falsetto—“Tea kettle, tea kettle, tea kettle.” The bird in the nest didn't stir. The thought came to Perry that he ought to ask Brother Hawthorne about the birds he had heard at the lake. But he would feel silly trying to imitate their calls.

“Well . . .” Perry took a step backward. “I'd better head home.”

“I'm glad you agreed to let me tell the people about your book,” Brother Hawthorne said as they started toward Perry's Toyota. “I know it was better for you at first the other way, but once you started visiting all the Sunday school classes and other activities with your notebook and pen, people did start to get a little curious.”

Perry nodded. “It was time to let them know. Anyway, Jewel had it figured out months ago.”

Brother Hawthorne smiled. “Well, it made it easier to get you into the Ladies' Bible Circle. They would have really wondered about you if they hadn't known what you were up to.”

Perry nodded and laughed. “Everybody has been very kind about it all,” he said.

“They can't wait to read it. Or I should say,
we
can't wait. It's not every day you get to see yourselves from an outsider's point of view.”

Actually, Perry hadn't expected to keep his book a secret for so long. After he had told Eldeen, Jewel, and Joe Leonard about it back in May at the Purple Calliope, the day he had let himself get so carried away, he thought it would soon leak out to everybody at church. But evidently it hadn't. The people had seemed genuinely surprised when Brother Hawthorne announced it in a Sunday evening service in June.

Brother Hawthorne stooped and pulled out a small clump of something among the geraniums lining the driveway. “You can't do much gardening,” he said, holding up the handful of weeds, “before you start thinking of Scripture.”

Perry wondered if Brother Hawthorne ever did anything without thinking of Scripture. Once in a sermon he had heard him draw a spiritual parallel from a can of Edna's hairspray that had gotten clogged. And another time while accompanying the pastor on Thursday evening visitation, Perry had heard him explain the process of sanctification to a new convert by using the illustration of an Easter egg dye kit. “The more times you dip the egg into the dye,” he had said, “the brighter and purer its color becomes.” The convert had caught on quickly. “And the more time I spend in the Bible, the more like Christ I'll become,” the man had said. “Absolutely,” Brother Hawthorne had said, his eyes shining.

As they reached the car now, Perry realized this was the perfect time to ask a question that was on his mind. He wished there were a way to lead into it gradually, but he needed to get home for his phone call to Troy. He opened the car door but didn't get inside.

“The wedding last Saturday was interesting,” he said. Brother Hawthorne cleared his throat but didn't respond. “I was wondering . . .” Perry said, “well, at the end you said something to Marty that I . . . I really didn't follow.” Perry put one foot inside the car but kept the other on the curb. Brother Hawthorne raised his eyebrows.

“It was the part,” continued Perry, “about the success of the marriage being Marty's responsibility.” He shook his head. “Do you really mean that? Somehow it just doesn't seem . . . altogether fair.”

Brother Hawthorne tossed the clump of weeds into the gutter. He answered slowly. “I know—it doesn't
sound
fair, does it?” Somewhere on the next street a car horn blared suddenly. Brother Hawthorne folded his arms and looked up at the night sky, then sighed and looked at Perry. “I've counseled so many married couples who were having trouble that I couldn't begin to count them, and all I can tell you is that in almost every case,
almost every case
, Perry, the husband's attitude was wrong.”

“What about the wife's?” Perry asked.

“Many times it was wrong, too,” Brother Hawthorne said, “and I'm not saying there might not be cases in which the woman is mostly to blame for a marriage gone sour.” He smiled at Perry and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I have only my experience to back me up, Perry, and I'll say it again—in almost every case of marital counseling in which
I've
been involved, the fundamental problem was the husband. If a man loves his wife as Christ loved the church, and if he loves her as his own body, well—that's a level of love most of us never reach.” He removed his hand from Perry's shoulder and stepped back. Perry wished there were something he could argue about.

Brother Hawthorne spoke again, more slowly now. “Men are by nature insensitive and selfish—”

“And women aren't?”

“Women are
sensitive
and selfish,” Brother Hawthorne replied quickly. “We all have a healthy dose of selfishness all right, but if the husband is the man he ought to be, he can set the whole tone for—”

“I gave her every single thing she wanted!” Perry said suddenly. He felt his face grow warm and was glad it was dark.

“Maybe what she really wanted wasn't things,” Brother Hawthorne said quietly. Perry opened the door wider and slid behind the steering wheel.

“I can't think of what it was I did that made her—” Perry broke off, then tried again. “I wasn't doing anything that . . .” Again he faltered.

“Oh, but there are so many things a husband must do,” Brother Hawthorne said. The faraway sound of a telephone ringing made them both glance toward the house, where the front door stood slightly ajar.

Perry inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. He needed to get home. Troy would be expecting his call in a half hour.

“Would you like to talk more about this?” Brother Hawthorne asked, leaning forward as Perry pulled the door shut. He squatted down on the curb beside the open car window like an agile Bolshoi dancer. “You know, Perry, a man can never be the husband he ought to be—the kind we've been talking about on Wednesday nights—unless he's born again. There's no magic formula, and it's too hard a job without the help of the Holy Spirit.”

“Well, maybe . . . I don't know,” Perry said. He looked into Brother Hawthorne's searching eyes briefly, then turned away. “It's all still so confusing.” He waved his hand. “Thanks again for tonight.” As he eased the gearshift into place and pulled away, he saw Edna come to the front door and call to her husband. In his rearview mirror he saw the pastor rise slowly and start toward the house.