The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) (7 page)

“
How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

“
He’s doing okay. He has good days and he has bad days. Mostly, I think he’s just tired.”

“
Tired?”

“
Physically tired, spiritually tired, emotionally tired. Just tired. I can see it in his eyes.”

“
I’m sorry.”

We turned down Maple Street, drove past the Holy Grounds Coffee Shop and headed out of town.

“
Well,” said Gaylen with a sigh, “we all get old. We all die.”

“
That’s pretty fatalistic, especially with Christmas coming up. I have a better plan.”

“
You know something I don’t?”

“
December 21st, 2012. It’s the new date of the Rapture. I’m just trying to hold on till then.”

Gaylen laughed. “So you won’t be planning any Christmas Eve services that year.”

“
Nope.”

“
Well, I guess I won’t bother writing a sermon.”

The town disappeared behind us and Maple Street turned to State Road 413. We were heading into Boone by a back road, a little longer, but infinitely more scenic than the main highway. The mountain laurel and the fir trees still had some color, but everything else was stark and bare and covered with the haze that gave the Smoky Mountains their name.

“
Worst case scenario,” I said. “The Rapture doesn’t happen and you preach the same sermon you did the year before.”

“
What about the choir?”

“
We’ll do a couple choruses of
Rudolf the Red-Nosed Bishop
during the offertory. Hey, watch out there...”

A family of skunks was crossing the highway in the fog and Gaylen didn’t see them right away. When she did see them, she touched her brakes. Nothing happened, or felt like it didn’t. The rear tires hit a patch of black ice that had been sheltered from the morning sun behind a large rock cliff. The car started to fish-tail badly, but seemed to correct itself. As the back of the car whipped back into the center of the road, three baby skunks appeared in the windshield, looking at us with huge, terrified eyes. Gaylen spun the steering wheel, more out of instinct than anything else.

I felt the car leave the road and hit the first tree with a screech of torn metal. The airbags deployed, smacked us back against the seats, then deflated in an instant. I tasted blood. We hit the second tree.

Then darkness.

Chapter 5

I saw a bright light, blinked, and turned my head. I’d been napping on my gurney in the emergency room.

“
Attaboy,” said the doctor flicking his pen-light into my eyes, first one and then the other. “Sorry to wake you up, but you had quite a rap on the ol’ coconut.” He clicked the flashlight off and dropped it into his breast pocket. “You remember anything?”

“
Yep,” I said, trying to shake off the cobwebs. “I remember.”

After we’d hit the second tree, Gaylen and I had sat there, motionless, for a few minutes. Then a voice came on a speaker telling us that the sensors had sent a message to the OnStar security switchboard saying that the airbags had deployed, and were we all right? Gaylen didn’t answer, or couldn’t, and I replied that we’d had an accident and were somewhere off the road. The operator said she’d stay on the line and send help immediately. I was suddenly very grateful that Gaylen had splurged on the new Volvo with all the bells and whistles.

Nancy and Dave showed up before the ambulance and had me out of the car by the time the ambulance arrived on the scene. We hadn’t moved Gaylen, but waited for the EMTs, fearing some internal injuries. She was conscious but couldn’t say anything. The ambulance was long gone by the time I’d told Nancy and Dave and two Boone cops what had happened. Then I climbed into Nancy’s car, rode to the hospital, and walked myself into the emergency room.

“
Better call Meg,” I said.

“
She’s on her way,” said Nancy.

Gaylen had been wheeled into surgery before we’d arrived at the hospital. I was luckier. I wouldn’t need any surgery—just a fiberglass cast on a broken left arm, a couple of months getting over a broken left collarbone, and some stitches in my scalp. No sign of a concussion, presumably what the doctor was looking for when I was so rudely awakened.

“
We’re going to keep you overnight,” he said. “Just in case.”

I blinked and looked around the small examining cubicle walled off from the others in the area by sheets of hospital-green linen. I’d just dragged myself into a sitting position on the table when Meg arrived. She pulled the dividing sheet to one side and peeked in; then, seeing I was sitting up, came in and touched me lightly on the side of the head where my hair had been shorn and several stitches were angrily visible against the pale scalp.

“
Ouch,” I said. “Don’t touch.”

“
I didn’t, you baby,” she said with a gentle smile. “I’m certainly relieved you’re okay. Luckily, Nancy told me you were fine before she said anything else. She said, ‘He’s fine and Gaylen’s okay, but there’s been a wreck.’”

“
Well,
fine
is a bit of a stretch.”

“
You’re not dead,” said Meg. “You need to get your arm set, but they can’t do anything about your collarbone.”

I nodded. “The doctor filled me in. Simple fracture. Six weeks in a cast and a sling for the clavicle. How’s Gaylen?”

“
She’s out of surgery and she’ll be good as new in a couple months. I didn’t get a report on the extent of her injuries. She’ll be here a few days, though. You guys want to share a room?”

“
Absolutely not.”

•••

Pete Moss and Cynthia Johnsson came into my room at about nine o’clock in the evening, breaking all the rules, including the ones about visiting hours and smuggling cigars and beer in to patients. I declined the cigar, but was more than happy to have the beer and the company. Meg, who had been at the hospital all day, had gone out to get a cup of coffee.

“
A visit from the mayor?” I said. “Now
that’s
something. How come you didn’t wear your belly-dancing outfit? That would have cheered me up more than Pete here.”

“
Last time I wore it, I caused quite a commotion in the cardiac ward,” said Cynthia. “I promised not to do it again.”

“
Going home tomorrow?” asked Pete.

“
Yeah. There wasn’t really any reason to stay except I got conked on the noggin. That, plus they wanted to watch me run around the halls in one of these open-in-the-back hospital gowns.”

“
I’m sure that’s it,” said Cynthia with a smirk. “Those nurses are lusting in their hearts.”

“
How’s your priest friend?” asked Pete.

“
I saw her a couple of hours ago. She’ll be okay, but she’s pretty banged up. Her right hand is fractured in several places. The surgeon had to put a few pins in. She has a separated shoulder, a couple of broken ribs, a busted nose and two black eyes.” I thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Her jaw was broken, too. It’s wired shut. I think that’s it.”

“
What about her spleen?” said Pete. “Whenever someone gets in a car wreck on TV, they lose a spleen.”

“
Spleen’s okay,” I answered.

“
Well, there’s a relief,” said Cynthia rather sarcastically, then looked puzzled. “I’m not even sure where my spleen is.”

“
Right around your liver somewhere,” Pete said, poking around at his midsection. “It’s all right there together. Spleen, liver, sweetbreads, kidneys, chitlins...all the major food organs. Hey! How’s she going to preach if her jaw’s wired shut?”

“
That’s a good question,” I said. “Maybe we can forego the sermons for a few weeks.”

“
I might even come back to church,” said Pete.

“
But, more to the point,” said Cynthia, “how are you going to play the organ with that arm in a cast?”

Meg opened the door and came into the room.

“
Hi, Meg,” said Cynthia. “We were just asking Hayden how he was going to play the organ with one hand tied behind his back. Care for a beer?”

“
No thanks,” said Meg. She raised her Styrofoam cup. “I just got some bad coffee from the nurses’ station.” She looked at Pete, who was busy wetting the tip of his cigar by spinning it in his mouth. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed. “There are smoke alarms all over this building. You may
not
light that thing in here!”

Pete put on a crestfallen expression and returned the cigar to his jacket pocket. “Well,” he said, “how
are
you going to play the organ?”

“
We were discussing the very thing before Meg’s coffee break,” I said. “And I have no idea. I’ll just have to take another leave of absence.”

“
You will
not!
” said Meg emphatically. “I’m the Senior Warden now and I’m not going through
that
again. I have a few thoughts on the matter, some people to call. I’ll see what I can come up with when I get home tonight.”

“
You’re not staying?” I asked.

“
And where am I supposed to sleep?” asked Meg.

“
This bed’s big enough,” I suggested, sliding across the starched sheet until I was next to one of the bed-rails. “You could...”

“
Forget it, Mister. No hospital canoodling.” She looked over at Pete and Cynthia and smiled sweetly. “That’s Rule 57.”

“
Subsection C,” I sighed.

“
You guys sure ended up with a lot of rules once you got married,” said Pete. “Me and Cynthia, we’ve got no rules. Anything goes.”

Cynthia just looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“
Well,” said Pete, “except for...umm...and...oh, never mind.”

Chapter 6

On Friday morning, I checked out of the hospital as soon as the doctor made his rounds at 7:15 and gave me the thumbs-up. Meg picked me up and we headed back to St. Germaine, where my truck was patiently waiting in front of the police station. It was a cold morning, crisp and clear, with none of the fog that had been part of the cause of the previous day’s troubles. Meg had Christmas music on the stereo. She went for the Christmas music right after Walmart did—Halloween, at the latest. At least (to my relief) she’d had the good taste to raid my CD collection and wasn’t listening to the Mantovani Orchestra play their greatest holiday hits. I recognized the unmistakable strains of Tchaikovsky’s
Nutcracker.

“
Did you come up with any great ideas?” I asked, as we drove down the highway. “Organ-wise, that is?”

“
Maybe,” Meg answered. “I’m waiting for a call back from my friend Edna.”

“
Edna?”

“
Uh-huh.” Meg was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Edna Terra-Pocks.”

“
Edna Terra from Lenoir?”

“
That’s her. She said she remembered you very well.”