These High, Green Hills (25 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: These High, Green Hills
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“Could I help it I had the flu the first time you went camping, and the next time you asked, I got married?”
“You better do it this time,” said Larry, “or I don’t know what dark revenge the kids might come up with. They really want you to go. Besides, it will be fun.”
Suddenly, everybody knew how to have fun. Why bother to come up with ideas of his own?
“Oh, and they want you to bring Cynthia,” said Larry.
Cynthia camping? He didn’t know about that. However, a girl who’d kept an alligator in her bathtub might possibly be up for it.
“How would you like to go camping weekend after next?”
“Camping?” He might have asked her how she’d like to go bungee jumping.
“With the youth group. They like you, said you’d be a blast to go camping with.”
“A blast?”
“That’s what they said.”
“How do you go camping? What do you do?”
“You take a bedroll and a tent and a frying pan, and saunter forth,” he said.
“Have you ever done it?”
“Hundreds of times!” As good as that sounded, he couldn’t tell a lie. “Five or six, anyway. I’ve been promising the kids I’d do it, and the jig is up.”
“Snakes,” she said. “I hate snakes.”
“Snakes hate you even more. Watch your step and you’ll be fine.”
“What about bugs?”
“Cynthia, Cynthia ...”
“And how do you ... I mean ... what do you do about ... ?”
“The woods.”
“Oh.”
“Take sketch pads and pencils—you could see a deer or wild turkeys, even beavers. It’s just your dish of tea. I’ll teach you to throw a line in the water, and who knows, we could catch dinner for the whole crowd, and be heroes.”
“Do you have a tent?”
“Sort of,” he said.
“Sort of?”
He could tell she smelled a rat. “A few poles and a blanket.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on,” he said, kissing her. “We’ll have a blast.”
She looked at him, leaning her head to one side in that way he couldn’t resist. He realized he didn’t want to go without her.
“Sleeping under the stars, singing around the campfire, roasting marshmallows ...” He searched her face for some sign of interest. Blank.
“Walking in the woods, listening to the creek rush boldly over the rocks ...” He was giving it everything he had.
“Searching yourself for ticks ...” she put in.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to study different kinds of moss, draw birds, go out into nature? That’s where you find nature—
in the woods
!”
“Yes, but ... camping?”
“Cynthia, it’ll be
fun
!” he said, desperate for a merchandising tactic.
She looked at him soberly, then grinned. “OK. But just this once.”
“You remember that dictionary I found in th‘ Dumpster?” Uncle Billy asked him when they met on the street.
“I do.”
“I cain’t hardly enjoy readin‘ it n’ more.”
“Is that right?”
“Yessir, it’s one thing here and another thing there—they’re always changin‘ th’ subject, don’t you know.”
The rector rolled his eyes and chuckled.
“That’s m‘ new joke, but it’s not m’ main joke. I’m workin‘ out m’ main joke for spring. By th‘ almanac, spring comes official on June twenty-one.”
“Well, then, you’ve got a little time,” he said. “Let me treat you to a cheeseburger.”
Uncle Billy grinned, his gold tooth gleaming. “I’d be beholden to you, Preacher. An‘ I wouldn’t mind a bit if you’d tip in some fries.”
He put his arm around the old man’s shoulders as they walked toward the Grill. He’d be et for a tater if he didn’t love Bill Watson like blood kin.
He sat in the living room on Lilac Road, where Miss Sadie had come to look perfectly at home.
He wanted to get the thing accomplished. He was actually losing sleep over it. What if she really did hurt someone, or herself, or both? The last time he was told to deliver a warning to another party, he didn’t deliver it—and Dooley’s best friend was nearly killed.
“Have you looked into getting a chaplain yet?” asked Miss Sadie.
“No, ma‘am, I haven’t.” He suddenly felt about nine years old.
“Well ...” she said, sounding a trifle stern. She’d had to keep after him with a stick to find a school for Dooley.
“But I’ll get to it. We’ve months to go yet.”
“What have you got on your mind, Father? When you have something on your mind, it shows.”
Dive in, and pray there’s water in the pool. “Miss Sadie, I know your wrist is healing.”
“Look there!” She jiggled her hand as a demonstration.
“Planning to drive soon?”
“I certainly am! I’ve nearly turned to a fossil sitting around here, and it’s made me grumpy as all get-out. You know I’ve never been grumpy.”
“No, indeed.”
“It’s not my nature.”
“I agree completely.”
“But there’s a first time for everything,” she declared.
“Miss Sadie, Rodney Underwood is going to give you a citation the next time you drive up on the sidewalk.”
She looked at him. “Did he tell you that?”
“He did.”
“Did he send you to tell me that?”
“Yes ma‘am.” Seven years old.
“Well, you tell Chief Underwood that he can march over here himself and do his business like a man. Sending my priest to do his dirty work is something I don’t cotton to, and I don’t mean maybe.”
“He said his men had spoken to you before....”
“Yes, indeed, they did, and I took no notice of it. He certainly likes to send people around to do his job! Is he so overworked he can’t take care of important matters himself? You and I pay his salary, Father, need I remind you?”
Sadie Baxter was in a huff, and grumpy wasn’t the word for it. He wanted to sprint to the door and head for the city limits. She had fussed at him before, but he’d never been around when she unloaded both barrels.
He saw Louella peering through the doorway.
“As if you didn’t have enough on your hands, Father, with the sick and hurting all around us. You know what I’d like to do?” Miss Sadie looked fierce.
“No, what?”
“I’d like to yank a knot in Chief Underwood’s tail!” she said, meaning it.
He thought he’d never seen her look so young and spunky. Maybe being grumpy had done her good. In any case, he was quitting while he was ahead.
He stood up. “The construction at Hope House is moving along at a pace, everything looks terrific, and I’d like to take you up there any day you want to go. Oh. I nearly forgot.” He pulled the paper sack from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“Donut holes!” he said. They were her hands-down favorite.
She looked at the bag and then at him. “Were these supposed to soften me up?”
“They were,” he said. Why beat around the bush?
She threw her head back and laughed merrily. There was the Sadie Baxter he knew, thanks be to God.
Taking the bag, she said, “You tell Chief Underwood to pay me a call in person and stop sending his henchmen to tell me what it’s his job to say.”
“I will.”
Miss Sadie rose from the chair, taking her cane. “And tell him to call first, so I’ll be dressed.”
“I’ll do that.”
She laughed again. “I declare, it’s kind of fun to be grumpy. People jump when I speak. I never noticed people doing that before.”
He put his arm around her as they walked to the door. “Cynthia and I will come and take you for a spin, drive you up to Fernbank. Maybe you’ve got a little cabin fever.”
“I’d like that. And Father?”
“Yes?”
“You know we love you. But you’re not suited to meddling.”
“Hessie’s story on your Primrose Tea was a whopper,” said J.C.
“A prize-winner,” said the rector. “Cynthia had a copy laminated.”
“If I paid that woman by the word, I’d be in deep manure.”
Mule slid in beside the rector, wearing a chartreuse jacket. “I just did a closing that will set me up for a month of Sundays.”
“Maybe now you can dump your polyester in a landfill and get you a new wardrobe,” said the editor, finishing his house salad.
“Congratulations!” put in the rector.
“I just dropped a bundle at the Presbyterian parking lot sale. Two suits, a brand-new sweater, and a runnin‘ suit.”
“You don’t run,” J.C. said.
“So, I’ll protect my investment and start,” Mule replied. “What’s that smell?”
The rector didn’t mention that he’d smelled something peculiar ever since J.C. sat down. So far, it had killed off all cooking odors from the grill, driven his sinuses haywire, and made the inside of his mouth feel funny.
“What smell?” asked the editor.
“Somethin‘ foul. Man! Stinks like cat musk.” Mule sniffed the air like a beagle. “No offense,” he told J.C., “but it’s comin’ from your direction.”
“It’s your upper lip,” snapped the editor, grabbing his briefcase. “I’ll just leave you boys to figure it out. I got to get over to th‘ mayor’s office.
Hasta la vista
.”
J.C. left a heavy blast of scent in his wake. The two men looked at each other.
“Cologne,” said the rector.
Understanding slowly dawned on Mule’s face. He broke into one of his cackling laughs. “So that’s it! Well, I’ll be dadgum. Ol‘ J.C., he’s ... he’s ...”
“Getting overhauled,” said the rector.
CHAPTER NINE
Locked Gates

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