Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2)

by Deborah Dee Harper

Can everyone in this town read my mind?

  I wandered into the kitchen. “Hello, dear.” Mel looked harried, but happy, despite the constant hovering of Winnie, Martha, and Hazel. “Don’t sit down!” I stopped, mid-sit, and she whisked a roasting pan of baked beans from the seat of the chair I was about to plop down on. Before I could find another place to sit, maybe enjoy a visit with my wife, pass the time with some of my lady parishioners, you know, let's make Hugh feel welcome in his own house stuff, Mel touched my arm. I looked into her beautiful hazel eyes and she said, “Go away.”

  Well, I had man stuff to do, anyway. I stalked out the back door and into the yard.

  And walked smack-dab into a camel.

  Chapter 26

  You don't hear that every day, do you? It was Sophie. At least I hoped it was her, since she's the only camel I know, up close and personal—or any other way, for that matter.

  I looked around from my uncomfortable position on the hard ground, with a camel’s head hovering too close for comfort, for her owner. If Sophie was in town, that meant the carrot-haired, dynamite-toting Sherman DeSoto, was too. I moved over to see around Sophie's drooling face and, lo and behold, there he was.

  “Hey, Pastor Foster! How’s it going?”

  “Fine, Sherman,” I said. “How are you?” I struggled to regain my feet, which wasn't easy with Sophie nudging me backward every time I moved upward an inch or so.

  “Doin’ good, Pastor. Doin’ good. Hey, wanna hand?” He wiped his on the back of his jeans and extended it toward me. I grabbed it and scrambled to my feet.

  I looked around to see if anyone else noticed a camel in my backyard. Apparently not. “What brings you to Road’s End, Sherman?”

  He grinned. “Summer vacation.”

  I thought about the ramifications of that for a moment then shook my head. “For you? You’re on break from school, I take it?”

  “Naw,” he said. “Sophie is!”

  Why, of course, she is. Next year, Dartmouth. They grow up so fast. “Sophie?”

  He nodded and I remembered his bobble-headed ways, dear boy. “What do you mean, Sophie?” He gave me that pity the poor dunderhead of a pastor look, which I also remembered, and said, “Sophie’s spending her summer vacation here this year. Didn’t Aunt Winnie tell you? We’ll be pickin’ her back up some time in August. What d’ya say, Granddad? ’Bout the last week or so?”

  I hadn't noticed Granddad, but there he was in all his balding red-hairedness. He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meetcha, Pastor Foster. Name’s Ford. Ford DeSoto. But most folks just call me ...”

  Let me guess.

  “Dodge.”

  Bingo. Dodge DeSoto. Now there’s a name.

  I shook his hand. He had a strong grip—probably from all that camel wrangling. “Well, Mr. DeSoto ...”

  “Dodge.”

  “Oh, right. Dodge. Well, it’s good to have you here. Welcome to Road’s End.” I scratched my own balding head and turned to Sherman. “You know, son, your aunt didn’t happen to mention that to me. Are you sure you made arrangements with Winnie?”

  He bobbled. “Yep. Talked to her just last night. Told her we was on our way, and we’d be here ’round this time. Made it, too.” He grinned as if he’d won the Daytona 500.

  “Well, maybe you should go on in and talk to her about it. I don’t believe we have anyplace we can put Sophie for the entire summer.” Besides, you might want to say good-bye to your aunt since I'm penciling her funeral in on my calendar for next Monday.

  “Naw, that’s okay. She told me Miss River up the hill yonder ...” he pointed to Rivermanse just in case I’d forgotten where one of our fifteen or so residents lived— “... would be more’n happy to put Sophie up for the summer months. She’s gettin’ on, you know, and she needs some time in the country.” He shrugged, bowed his head, and looked for all the world like he was going to burst into tears. “Air’ll do her good, too.”

  What? They didn’t have air in Pennsylvania?

  Dodge put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “It's okay, Shermie.”

  Shermie? It wasn’t enough that he has neon orange hair, helped the man raise camels, and rode around in his pick-up with dynamite just in case he needed to blow something to kingdom come? His grandfather had to call him Shermie, too?

  Chapter 27

  The rest of the morning was frantic—last minute details to hosting the President of the United States seemed interminable and started long before the last moment, believe you me. Poor Mel had to have been exhausted, but she looked as lovely as ever while we sat. Well, I sat. She jumped up and down, making things look better that looked perfectly fine to me. We waited with Mandy, Jonathan, and Tanner for the grand arrival. I dreaded it, frankly, knowing what I knew about the Road’s End Inaugural Presidential Motorcade and Honor Guard Parade lying in wait for them along the road into town. Utter humiliation for the men of Road’s End was the best outcome I could envision, and the worst? Well, the worst was apparently so bad my mind refused to go there. I knew those men meant well, but their enthusiasm was going to get them in trouble one of these days, and I had a feeling today was that day.

  Nevertheless, I resisted the temptation to drive down the road to beg them to reconsider, drive their vehicles back to their respective garages, barns, and lean-tos, and abandon the whole idea. And so, the dread continued to roil in my stomach the way a pail of bacon grease and a quart of grapefruit juice might treat one another down there.

  I had given Grace strict orders to keep her mother and the other ladies under house arrest if need be to avoid a situation similar to the previous afternoon when Jonathan and Tanner arrived. The president had enough problems without Ruby Mae Headley trying to fix him up with her daughter or Martha, Winnie, and Heaven forbid, Sadie, telling him how to run the government.

  Mack, bless his heart, called ahead to let me know they were approaching town. I didn’t even have to ask him if they’d had to stop to make any arrests, because before hanging up, he said, “You might want to send someone down here to check on some old guys, Hugh. We passed a bunch of old junk cars and a tractor parked alongside the road with old men sleeping in them. Least I think they were sleeping. Could be dead for all I know, but I didn’t stop to see. Could’ve been a trap of some kind. I thought I recognized one or two of them, but then their mouths were hanging open, so it was hard to tell. Anyway, we just passed the city limits. You call this place a city? Anyway, be there soon.”

  I didn’t know whether to smile or cry. Yes, my prayers that the parade be eliminated were answered. Evidently, the men lined up alongside the road during the middle of the night and then fell asleep waiting for their guest of honor to arrive. On the other hand, a lot of work and worry went into that parade. I pitied the man who was supposed to be on guard duty.

  On the bright side, they had lots of candy to see them through ’til summer. And no one broke a hip or had an eye put out. Life is good.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting the president to be travelling in, but I assure you a Virginia power company truck wasn’t it. Nevertheless, the truck pulled up in front of The Inn at Road’s End and extended its bucket upward. A man, who I later realized was a Secret Service agent disguised as a repairman, began to do what I viewed as important-looking electrical things to gadgets attached to the pole. I was so busy wondering what was wrong with our power that I didn’t even notice the president climbing out of the truck. It wasn’t until I saw Mack walking across the yard toward me that I noticed he was escorting the most important man in the world to my home while I stood gawking at a faux electric company employee pretending to work on the lines. Doesn’t take much to amuse me.

  Stuart Thomas Rogers is an imposing figure. Yes, he probably has the best tailors in the country working on his wardrobe and PR folks climbing all over him, telling him how to be gracious and when to look someone in the eye, and when to beat around the bush. But I don’t think he pays one bit of attention to any of them. He’s who he is, and
he’s never—to my knowledge, at least—pretended otherwise. No, President Rogers is imposing because he’s honest. He’s genuine. He’s flawed, and he knows it. He has a presidential air about him not because he’s the president, but because he epitomizes the American ideal of the president.

  Once I dragged myself away from the non-emergency unfolding a few feet above us, I walked toward Mack and STR and extended my hand. The president grasped it tightly and with a smile said, “Pastor Foster. It’s really nice to be here. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Mr. President, welcome.” Before I could say anything more—something insanely charming like Uh ....

  Mel walked up beside me and said, “Welcome, Mr. President. We can’t tell you how happy we are to have you with us.” She turned and waved Jonathan and Mandy toward us. “Come on, you two. Jonathan,” she joked, “don’t you have an uncle to greet—not to mention your mother and stepdad?”

  Irene Austin appeared from the truck a few seconds later. No husband so far. She walked toward us, a big smile on her pretty face, and touched Mel’s arm. They hit it off immediately and within thirty seconds, had probably told one another more about themselves than I’ve told friends of thirty years. Then she turned to me and took my hand in both of hers. “Pastor Foster. I’m so glad to finally meet you and your wife.”

  “Believe me, Mrs. Austin. The pleasure’s ours.”

  “None of that Mrs. Austin stuff, Pastor. Please call me Irene.”

  “Okay, Irene, I will,” I said with a smile. “But we’re just Hugh and Mel. Okay?”

  “Okay, Just Hugh.” She grinned. I liked that lady.

  “Is the Senator with you?”

  She grimaced slightly. “No, not today. He had some business he had to tend to, he said. He’ll be here later.”

  Mack stood by, hovering like some huge, mutant mother hen, continually scanning the surroundings and finally suggested we move indoors. We spent the next hour drinking iced tea and eating cheese and crackers while we talked simply as relatives of the bride and groom. There was a break in the conversation when Tanner, fresh from his nap, hair tousled and eyes still puffy, came barreling around the corner hollering for his dad and Mandy. When Jonathan turned and opened his arms to his little boy, Tanner stopped dead in his tracks, his face lighting up like a cluster of stadium lights during the Super Bowl, and ran straight for his grandmother. “Baba!”

  Irene—Baba?— sank to her knees, held out her arms, and scooped him up in a big hug. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy to see you. How are you? Ready for the big day?”

  Tanner stood back and looked at her with that big grin of his. “You betcha, Baba. We gonna be a fambly!”

  Irene looked up at the rest of us and grinned. “You bet you are, little guy. Here, help your Baba up again, will you?” Tanner made a big show of letting her lean on his arm while Irene winked at the rest of us. “You’re getting stronger by the day, aren’t you? I just can’t believe it.” Tanner’s little chest puffed out; he reached out to have her pull him into her lap. Once settled, Irene pointed to STR and said, “Do you remember who this is?”

  Tanner grinned and said, “Sure do—came out sounding like ‘sho-wo-do’— It’s Uncle Pwesident.”

  Chapter 28

  Needless to say, the men of Road’s End were not particularly happy when they rolled, well, chugged back into town a few hours later. Nobody was taking responsibility for being on guard duty during the pivotal moment the president arrived, all proclaiming they did their part before falling asleep at the wheel. Literally. I have a sneaking suspicion it was George, the Parade Master, who dropped the ball, but no one in his right mind was going to challenge him.

  But of course, we have Dewey to fill that role.

  “Hey, George, I told you it was time for your shift. What happened, huh? Let us down, didja?”

  Ever the creative one, George answered, “Shut up, Dewey.”

  “You shut up, ya big ninny.”

  “Ninny? Did you just call me a ninny? Why, you ... you nincompoop!”

  I’m not sure how a ninny differs from a nincompoop, but evidently enough to cause a mild uprising. George and Dewey were up into each other’s face, thrusting their once robust chests—chests that had sunk to around stomach level—like a couple of elementary school boys fighting over ownership of the baseball. Much to my glee, Mack strolled up just then with the president right behind and intervened.

  “Gentlemen, do we have a problem here?”

  “Mind yer own business!” That was George, a man about to get the surprise of his life.

  Mack laid a giant hand on George’s shoulder and firmly turned him around. “This is my business, my good man,” he said. “Now, I repeat, do we have a problem here?”

  “Oh, Agent MacDonald. Sorry ’bout that. Just a little difference of opinion.”

  “MacElroy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s MacElroy. Agent MacElroy. But you can call me Mack if you’d like. You’re Mr. Washington, right? We met the other day, remember?”

  George had the good sense to look embarrassed; Dewey had the lack of sense to snicker. I caught his eye and gave him the best imitation of Mel’s no-nonsense glare I could muster. It worked. Wow.

  “Uh, right,” George said. “We did talk. Yessirree, I remember that.” He bobbed his head up and down as if that would prove that yes, he really, truly, cross-his-heart, hoped to die remembered meeting the biggest man any of us had ever seen. He had yet to notice the president beyond Mack, but the rest of the men did. They were so dumbstruck I thought they were going to kneel.

  “I’ll take it from here, Mack,” STR said, stepping forward. “I think the men were just having a spirited discussion. Right, guys?”

  Having the president call them “guys” was more than any of them could handle. This moment would go down in the annals of Road’s End history—not as the time the President of the United States came to town, but the occasion on which none of the men of Road’s End had a single thing to say. It was the sweetest thirty seconds of my life. But, of course it couldn’t last and surprisingly, Leo was the first to speak.

  “Welcome,” he said. Several puffs of smoke followed that lengthy discourse as he stoked his pipe.

  “Thank you, sir,” STR said. He held out his hand. “Stuart Rogers.”

  The next few seconds passed in a flurry of handshakes and howdies. Mack spoke something into his wrist radio and held up a finger to let me know he wanted to talk. Seconds later, a second agent walked up. Mack took me by the arm and led me away from the group. I felt sorry for STR, but it was nice to have the men occupied, even if it was at the expense of our nation’s leader. Let him get a taste of living here and see how peaceful Washington seemed afterward.

  Chapter 29

  After several fruitless attempts to gain control of the chaos reigning throughout the house, I asked Mandy if she’d mind calling the rehearsal dinner to order. I figured the folks of Road’s End were so accustomed to ignoring me they’d never shut up.

  She grinned and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You bet, handsome.” That was my girl. Always the smart one. And I was right. The minute she tapped her spoon against Mel’s mother’s fine crystal goblet—I could feel Mel cringing—everyone immediately stopped talking and gave her their full attention. How does she do that?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here with Jonathan and me, and of course, the best man, little Tanner here.” She gestured toward him.

  He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “And a big welcome to all of our honored guests.” She waved her arm around the table to include everyone, starting with Frank Riley, who was oblivious, to STR, Irene Austin, Mel and me, the Wyandottes, Washingtons, and Parrys, both Ruby Mae and Grace, Sadie, Leo, Rachel, Joe, Bristol, Rudy, and Mack. I was proud of her for including everyone at the table in the “honored guest” column, because after all, what would a wedding be without the people who have made your life both joyful and miserable?


  “Before we eat the delicious dinner my mother and the ladies of the Christ Is Lord Church have prepared for us, let’s bow our heads while my dad leads us in prayer.”

  I nodded my thanks to her as she sat down, pushed my chair back to stand, and looked around the table at the faces that made up that honored guest list. Mandy was right. It was an honor to have them with us that night. Their upturned faces looked almost angelic in the glow of the flickering candles that reflected off the rich cherry wood finish of the eighteenth-century furniture and the antique mirrors gracing the walls. I mentally shook my head. Good people, yes. Angelic? Not so fast, Hugh.

  I bowed my head. “Let us pray. Lord Father, thank You for this gathering of friends and family who join us tonight in the celebration of Mandy and Jonathan’s wedding tomorrow. As we enjoy the food You have provided and the great ladies of our church have lovingly prepared for our nourishment, we thank You for Your protection, Your unfaltering love, and Your mighty and awesome power. We know that Mandy, Jonathan, and Tanner will be blessed by You in the years to come, and we pray that Your Name will be forever and always glorified by the union of these two—make that three—very special people. We ask for Your protection for all of us as we celebrate then travel back to homes around the country, for wisdom and guidance as Mandy and Jonathan begin their lives together, that we may help guide them on the path You’ve prepared for them when they turn to us for advice and counsel, for understanding and patience during those times when trouble visits and the kinks are worked out one by one. Mostly, however, we thank You for the unspeakable gift of salvation through Your Son and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. May we live our lives to Your glory, follow Your Word always, and conduct ourselves in a manner that will reflect Christ’s love through us. In the name of Your Holy Son, Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.”