A brown dog wagged its way around the corner of the house and headed straight for Jamie and Mallory, bounding around them in obvious delight and announcing their presence in a hoarse “Arp!” that resembled the bark of a seal. At the sound, the unmistakable bray of a donkey began from somewhere out back, and the front door opened with a bang, emitting a smiling May Hinton.
“Well, y’all did come! I’m so glad—I’ve had fun gettin’ ready for you. Did you find Miss Susie all right? Ain’t she somethin’? Come on in, and might’s well bring your things with you and get ’em tucked away upstairs while supper’s finishin’. Hey, there, you old hound, leave them young ’uns be! He’s lonesome for somebody to play with since Luther, my youngest, up and joined the Navy last year. The donkey misses him, too. She’s Luther’s special pet, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with her. Ya’ll come on in, now!”
Obediently they got their overnight bags and followed her into the house. The high-ceilinged living room with its faded wallpaper and dark red plush-covered chairs reminded the bishop mightily of his grandmother’s house—as did the aroma of supper cooking and the window fan that was wedged into one long dining room window to suck the hot air out of the house.
The house was old and shabby but spotlessly clean enough to appease even Tiffani’s worries. They followed May up the staircase and into the bedrooms she indicated. A front bedroom was air-cooled and furnished with a four-poster bed that the bishop knew his wife was admiring, and it was there that May indicated that they should sleep. Next door was a room with twin beds and a box of toys.
“This here’s where my grandbabies sleep when they come,” May told them, “so I figgered ya’ll young ’uns might take to it, too. Right now, that window fan’s suckin’ out the warm air, but after while, when it’s cooled off a bit outside, I’ll reverse it so it blows air in. Same in here, honey,” she added to Tiffani. “This was my girl Selma’s room. She’s married now with two of her own. Lives in Atlanta. The bed’s real comfy.”
“Thank you,” Tiffani said. “It’s really pretty.”
“Well, Selma was always the frilly type. She ordered her spread and curtains from the Sears catalog we used to get, and paid for ’em with money she saved up sellin’ eggs and produce. You should see the place she’s got, now! So fancy a body cain’t even relax in it. But it’s purty to look at.”
She stood in the middle of the hallway and looked around. “Oh—bathroom’s right through there, and you’re all welcome to a bath or shower, though you might want to space ’em out a little, ’count of my hot water heater’s kinda old, and takes a while to fill up. Well, y’all make yourselves at home, inside or out. I’ll be in the kitchen for just a few more minutes. Onliest thing, y’all kids—don’t let the goats out of their pen or I’ll never get ’em back tonight! They’re friendly, though, and you can pet ’em and feed ’em through the fence. They’ll eat handfuls of grass or weeds or whatever. And there’s some little-bitty kittens in the barn. If you’re real soft with ’em, I reckon their mama’ll let you hold ’em. She’s a sweet-natured cat. Now, can I get y’all anything? Ice water? Iced tea?”
“We’re fine, thanks. We had ice water with us in the car. We’ll just freshen up and be down in a minute,” Trish told her. “Thanks so much for preparing all this for us.”
“My pleasure, honey. I’ve got pork chops, applesauce, mashed potato, pole beans, and fresh tomato and cucumber and hot biscuit and gravy, if y’all can make a meal offa that.”
“Boy! Can we ever,” the bishop responded with enthusiasm. “Sounds great.”
The children wandered outside, with Mallory predictably making a beeline for the barn and the kittens. The bishop and Trish followed, enjoying the peaceful close of a fine day, watching their children get acquainted with the livestock, and feeling that life was, indeed, very good.
While they waited for dinner, the bishop made a few calls on his cell phone. He spoke with his counselor, Sam Wright, and learned that so far, things hadn’t fallen apart in their absence.
“I hear Sister Hildy ain’t feelin’ so well,” Sam told him. “You know how she’s just fadin’ away since she lost Roscoe, bless her heart. I don’t reckon we’ll have her with us too many more months. Ida Lou keeps a close eye on her, thank goodness. Oh, and I saw Ralph Jernigan, and he says he’s got somethin’ to tell you. Wouldn’t breathe a word of it to me, of course. All hush-hush. You know how Ralph is.”
“I do,” the bishop agreed, smiling. Indeed, he did.
“And I b’lieve Sister Winslow wants to be released from the Activities Committee. Don’t know why.”
The bishop winced. Not only did LaThea Winslow do a bang-up job on that committee, but it would be a challenge to find another appropriate place for her to serve. Although, he reflected, she had humbled herself appreciably of late, and maybe she would be willing to teach a class of youth somewhere. He would ponder and pray on the matter, and he asked Sam to do the same.
“So how’s the ancestor hunt goin’?” Sam asked.
“I’m having a blast,” the bishop admitted, “but I’m beginning to see what Sister Collins meant when she said research is time-consuming. I’ve been to the courthouse, a cemetery, and to visit a lady genealogist who seems to know everything about everybody in the county, but I’ve only uncovered two little-bitty facts about my grandpa, one of which I already figured to be true. The other is that he apparently died in World War One, which is news to me.”
“Well, maybe more’ll turn up. I wish you luck.”
He said goodbye and shared the information about Hilda with Trish, who nodded sympathetically.
“She’s such a sweet lady, and she must be desperately lonely, with all her family in the next world.”
He agreed. “Never complains a word, though, does she? And thank heaven for Ida Lou. They’ve become real close.”
They strolled toward the barn to check on Mallory, just as she emerged cuddling a tiny black kitten to her chest.
“Look, Daddy—she’s so little! But she purrs real big.”
He stroked the tiny back with one finger and felt the vibration.
“Yep, she’s got a good motor, doesn’t she? Hard to believe Samantha was once that small.”
“I miss Samantha. Can we call Chloe and Marie and make sure she’s okay?”
“Their mom has our number, honey,” Trish told her. “If there’s any problem, I’m sure they’ll let us know.”
“I know, but I’m scared that lady’ll get her, like before!”
“Okay,” her dad said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll call Muzzie and the girls to make sure, all right? But I need to charge my phone before I make many more calls, and there’s one more I need to make tonight.”
“Okay,” Mallory agreed with a sigh. “Come on, baby kitty. Let’s put you back to bed.”
Her parents exchanged smiles, her father thinking how early the mothering instinct surfaced in little girls. Mallory had been cuddling dolls and animals, dressing and wrapping them in little blankets, since she’d been a very small child. Samantha, the Siamese, took exception to that brand of nurturing, but she was still partial to her young owner, obviously able to discern the little girl’s devotion to her.
They watched Jamie and Tiffani as they leaned over a fence, offering grass to the two goats, who capered around before bounding back for more. The bishop walked over to the donkey and rubbed its coarse-haired nose, which silenced its raucous calls for the moment. His wife went to relax in the shade of some magnificent old trees. The bishop pulled his small notebook from his shirt pocket and found the phone number Miss Susie had given him.
When she answered, he apologized for calling at what might be her meal time, and then put his question to her about whether the local cemeteries had ever been catalogued.
“Well,” she said reluctantly, “in fact, several have been transcribed, but I don’t know whether you’ll be allowed to see the results.”
He frowned. “Why is that?”
“They’re in a private collection. The county Historical Society has begged, pleaded, and offered to pay good money for copies of the inventories, but the woman who spearheaded the work has, so far, declined.”
“Wow. That seems kind of selfish.” He paused. “Do you happen to know her name or phone number? I figure I have nothing to lose by asking.”
“Mmm. Do you recall, when we spoke this afternoon, that I mentioned the researcher who refused to share information with me, saying that she had put in the effort and expense to acquire it, and I could do the same?”
“Uh-oh. Same person, is it?”
“One and the same. I can direct you to her, but I’m afraid you’re likely to find her no more accommodating than anyone else has.”
“I expect you’re right, but I’d appreciate the chance to be rebuffed!”
“Her name is Leanore St. John,” Miss Susie told him. “She lives just outside Whitchurch, which is east of Winns Corner by about fourteen miles. If you turn right by the American Farmers Seed and Feed Company store, and then right again on State Road Four, you’ll soon come to her place. It’s red brick with white columns, and she likes to pretend it’s antebellum, but I happen to know it wasn’t built until after the war. She fancies her ancestors to be among the early planters in the area, but they didn’t arrive until the mid-eighties. Eighteen-eighties, that is. One moment, and I’ll get the phone number for you.”
“Thank you.” The bishop smiled to himself, amused at the obvious rivalry between the two genealogists. Miss Susie came back with the number, which he duly copied into his notebook, and for which he thanked her.
“Don’t bother letting her know I referred you to her,” Miss Susie said wryly. “She wouldn’t regard that as much of a reference. And good luck to you!”
He slipped the phone and notebook into his pocket just as May Hinton opened her back door and announced supper.
* * *
The cliché of a table groaning under a bounteous spread had new meaning for Bishop Jim Shepherd as he and his family gathered around the one in May’s dining room.
“Now if ya’ll don’t mind, I always say grace before meals,” May announced, glancing around to get their reaction.
“Please do,” the bishop encouraged, and all bowed their heads. When May’s simple prayer of gratitude for blessings was ended, they echoed her “amen.”
“Well!” she said with a surprised smile. “How nice! Y’all just all start with whatever’s in front of you, then pass to your left. I’ll get the hot biscuit.”
“Mrs. Hinton, I’m afraid you’ve worked far too hard for us,” Trish told her. “This is like a holiday dinner!”
“I’ll tell you the truth,” May replied, pausing at the kitchen door, “it gives me a reason to whip up some favorite dishes that I don’t bother to fix for just me. Not that I’d want to cook a big meal ever’ night of the week, like I used to do when my husband and kids were all here, not at my age—but I do love the chance to do it now and again.”
“I understand that. I like to cook for people, too,” Trish agreed.
“On Sundays, me and a couple of other widows and single ladies get together and take turns makin’ dinner for each other. Sometimes we invite a family from church to join us, to make it all worthwhile. Makes us feel useful again. Good thing, to feel useful. Ya’ll eat up, now!”
They ate with dedication for a while, and then May passed a little glass dish of blackberry jam.
“This is for the leftover biscuit,” she told them. “Part of what I put up today. I made us a pie, too, but I gotta confess—when I thought about the way you was eyein’ that old Georgia rattlesnake, Mr. Shepherd, I went back and got us one. See, that’s another thing—how can one solitary woman justify buyin’ a big old watermelon? So you gave me a good excuse for that, too! We’ll have us some a little later on.”
“How come they call them rattlesnakes?” Mallory asked. “That sounds yucky.”
“I reckon it’s ’cause of their markings, honey, and how they like to hide in the melon patch under all the leaves, like a snake. And I’ve been told snakes like ’em, though I couldn’t swear to that. I’m also told bees’ll sting ’em, ’cause they smell so sweet, though I don’t know how much stock to put in that, neither. I do know snakes like blackberries, on account of I’ve run ’em off from my berry patches, and I’m always real careful when I’m out pickin’.”
“How many children and grandchildren do you have, Mrs. Hinton?” Trish asked.
“Six children livin’ and two in heaven, died as babies. Thirteen grandchildren—but do I get to spoil ’em rotten, like I want to? No, sir-ee. Some lives in Atlanta, some in Columbus, some in Flomaton, Alabama, and one way off in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Nary a one’s close around here. None of the kids wanted to work this land, so I rent most of it out. They all went off to college and got different degrees. One’s a dentist, two girls are teachers, and one’s an attorney. One boy’s an electrician, and like I said, Luther, the youngest, is doin’ a stint in the Navy. I sure hope he don’t get sent anywhere near where the fightin’s goin’ on—but he says he hopes he does—so there you are.” She sighed. “So, hey—did y’all have any luck findin’ your grandpa?”
The bishop told her what had transpired, concluding with their plan to visit Leanore St. John in the morning.
“Is that right? Well. I went to school with Leanore—Leanore Caldwell, she used to be. I shouldn’t say it, but she was prissy then, and the years haven’t improved her. Well, I mean, she’s smart and all, and good at just about anything she sets her hand to, but she’s not what you’d call a friendly woman. I hope she’ll be nice to y’all.”
The bishop hoped so, too. “All we can do is try, I reckon. I’m told she spearheaded a project to transcribe all the tombstone inscriptions in the local cemeteries, but that she’s pretty selective about who she lets see her work.”
“Sounds ’bout right. Reputation for bein’ stingy. Tell you what—I’ll send along a jar of my blackberry preserves with my greeting to her, in case that’ll help. No guarantees, though!” She laughed. “We never did get along real good, so she might just dump ’em down the sink and run you off her land!”
“Mrs. Hinton, your preserves are sweet enough to melt the heart of a witch,” the bishop declared.
She laughed again. “They might have to be!”
Chapter Four
* * *
“ . . . How good to those who seek”
By the time Bishop Jim Shepherd and his wife emerged rested and showered the next morning, their two youngest were nowhere to be seen. Tiffani, on the other hand, slumbered on as only a teenager can, on her stomach with one arm flung off the edge of the bed, several books beside her on the floor—her own and a couple from the small bookcase that had been Selma’s.
“Looks like our bookworm read herself to sleep,” her father whispered as they tiptoed toward the stairs.
“I hope it wasn’t too late, or she’ll be grumpy today,” her mother replied. “And a grumpy Tiff is no fun to travel with. No patience with the little ones.”
The dining table was set for breakfast. May Hinton had told them to sleep as long as they desired, that she could pull breakfast together at any time with no trouble. They wandered through the empty kitchen and out the backdoor. Jamie was perched atop the fence, talking to the donkey, who bobbed its head as if in complete agreement with whatever he was telling her. Mallory and May came from the direction of the henhouse, where conversation between the chickens sounded less amicable. Mallory held a cardboard egg carton carefully before her, while May carried a more substantial box with several cushioned layers of eggs.
“Mommy! Look, I found eggs for our breakfast. It’s like hunting Easter eggs!”
“All right!” said Trish, bending to kiss her daughter’s face.
“She’s such a good helper,” May praised. “I let her find the ones at her level, and where the hens had already left to go feed,” she explained.
“Some of them old Mama chickens are kinda grouchy, aren’t they, honey?”
“Yeah,” Mallory agreed. “Some of ’em try to peck you. They think you’re kidnapping their eggs. Eggs can grow up to be baby chicks, if they stay with their Mamas,” she advised wisely. “But Sister Hinton doesn’t need lots more chickens, so she uses the extra eggs.”
The bishop smiled at the Sister appellation, but May Hinton leaned over and whispered, “She’s plumb precious. So’s the boy. He’s so cute with the animals, it puts me in mind of Luther.”
“Thanks,” their father replied. “Um—we call everybody brother and sister in our church, so that’s where that came from.”
May nodded. “I figgered as much. I can tell y’all are a good Christian family. Well, I’ll go to work on breakfast and scramble up these special eggs Miss Mallory found.”
“Can I help?” Trish asked.
“Land, no, honey—you take it easy while you can! I won’t be no time.”
“Dad, look! She likes me,” Jamie called, as the donkey rubbed her head against the leg of his jeans.
“I’m not a bit surprised,” his dad said, as they walked toward him. “She knows you like her. Animals can tell.”
“Cool. So, what’re we doing, today?”
“Well, this morning we’re going to visit another lady who studies family history, to see if she can tell us anything about where Grandpa’s buried. And I guess our next step will depend on what she tells us.”
Jamie made a face. “Wish I could stay here. I’m kinda tired of visiting family history ladies.”
His mother laughed. “We’ve only been to see one,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but—you know. She was kinda a lot. Even if she was nice, I mean.”
“I know what you mean, bud,” his dad agreed. “And the one today might not be quite as nice, from what I hear.”
“Please, can’t I stay here? I wouldn’t be any trouble, and you could just pick me up, after.”
The Thorny Path Page 4
