Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good

by Jan Karon

  • • •

  MARCIE GUTHRIE DID THE BOOKKEEPING, handled their online business, and ordered the inventory, which gave him time to actually read a book. He had heard of booksellers who never read, and didn’t care to be one.

  He had to find a book for himself, one to look up from when someone came in. ‘Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it,’ P. J. O’Rourke had said. He must stick that on the corkboard.

  He was turning from the window when he saw the limo heading south on Main. He threw up his hand, waved, heard the horn as the car passed from view. K.D. would be going down the mountain with her monogrammed glasses case, retrieved yesterday from Lew Boyd.

  After a separation of sixty-two years, Kim Dorsay had just spent four days with her twin sister. He and Cynthia had seen them last night at dinner, which Kim had cooked in the rented lodge in the hills. It had been a pretty phenomenal meal, strictly Italian, with a goodly quantity of Prosecco. He’d told Uncle Billy’s basic repertoire, begging their pardon for its hopeless rusticity, and they had all done a good bit of laughing. Kim clued them in on people he’d never heard of, except possibly Dustin Hoffman.

  In the end, he and Cynthia shared the odd feeling that they’d gained a sister or two, themselves.

  • • •

  MISS MOONEY OPENED THE DOOR and blew in with the snow.

  ‘Just letting you know you won’t be troubled with us today, Father. We are dispersed!’ She shook out her wool cap, unleashing a tangle of curls.

  ‘Hooray for snow days. How is Hastings coming along?’

  ‘He loved the new book he bought and is saving for another, so we must put our thinking caps on. He’s been out for a few days. Low-grade fever, I’m told, not eating or drinking.’

  ‘An interesting boy, to say the least. I see our new reader is making progress.’

  ‘Coot is very quick. His reading skills simply pop out and astonish me. An odd thing—he’s frightened by the capital letter!’

  ‘A candidate for e. e. cummings, perhaps?’

  They had a laugh.

  By teaching Coot to read, Miss Mooney had reminded him of something rather wonderful—there really was balm in Gilead.

  • • •

  ‘THE POWDER PIG HAS ARRIVED, but no chunder and no chicken necks, please.’

  ‘Chunder and chicken necks?’

  ‘Ski talk! Snow does that to me. I was in such a hurry the other day, thought I’d come in and be civil.’

  Father Brad indicated his gear—wool scarf, jeans, hiking boots, hat, fleece-lined jacket. ‘Vestments for Rite Three. What’s going on today, Father?’

  ‘You’re the most we’ve had going on in some time. What do you think of our village now that you’ve been around the block, so to speak?’

  ‘Looks to be all apple and no worm.’

  ‘How about a good bit of apple, and definitely some worm?’

  ‘We’ll all be human together, then.’

  ‘I just made a fresh pot of coffee . . .’

  ‘Half a cup, thanks, I’m meeting a realtor here in twenty minutes. Leaving for Colorado first thing in the morning, wanted to touch base again. Where’s Barnabas?’

  ‘Not in the display window, too cold. Probably on the heat vent at American History. We’ll rattle his treat bag.’

  Barnabas appeared, yawning. He thought his dog looked especially freewheeling in the red bandanna. Father Brad squatted, took something from his jacket pocket. ‘You’re a wise and handsome fellow. See what you think of this—organic oatmeal with spelt flour.’

  Barnabas took it at once. Down the hatch. Two chomps.

  ‘He likes it!’ he said.

  ‘It’s what I give my girl at home; bake ’em myself. Daisy’s around four years old, looks forward to moving to Mitford.’

  ‘Her breed?’

  ‘Mongrel, like the rest of us.’ Father Brad powered to his feet like a jack-in-the-box.

  ‘Did you find a place?’

  ‘Not yet. I looked at a couple of rental houses yesterday, but I’m starting to think an apartment.’

  ‘We don’t have apartments in Mitford.’

  They sat on stools at the coffee station.

  ‘Just as well, parishes don’t trust priests in apartments, even interims. Too fly-by-night. They prefer clergy strapped with a mortgage and a lawn to keep mowed. By the way, I hear you’re doing this gig pro bono.’

  ‘I feel I owe the owner for the experience. How did you find things down the street? I hear you’re good at damage control.’

  ‘I’m the guy with a shovel who follows the elephants.’

  ‘I don’t envy you.’

  ‘My vision for Lord’s Chapel goes beyond trying to help clean up the Talbot business. I’d like to put together a really strong Youth Group, but I haven’t seen any youth around.’

  ‘They’re definitely here. I have one over at my place, he’s trouble enough to be an entire group all by himself.’

  ‘What age?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘I was at my worst at seventeen. I went from punching out a cop and spending time in juvenile detention to stealing a car and selling dope. I was ballistic. Finally got my act together, made it through four years of college with pretty good grades, and joined the military—I was surprised they’d have me. It changed everything.’

  Father Brad peeled out of his wool scarf.

  ‘I’ll be coming to Lord’s Chapel at an awkward time all around. In addition to the Talbot business, there’s January—party’s over, people can be a little edgy, depressed. Anyway, thought I’d make a quick reconnaissance to Mitford and get a few ducks in a row so everything doesn’t hit at once. Pray for me, if you will.’

  ‘Consider it done. And know that you can call on me at any hour.’

  ‘Thanks, that means a lot. My wife, Kate, would have loved it here. I lost her two years ago, she was my life. So I lost my life and had a hard time getting it back. The good news is, the trauma of losing her led me into a whole new relationship with Christ, a higher place than I’d gone before. Maybe we can only go as high as we can go deep. But enough!’

  ‘Marine Corps, the bishop says.’

  ‘Semper fidelis. Twenty-three years old, saw my first action in Cambodia. Intelligence told us it would be a cakewalk—small weapons, a couple dozen enemy. We lost thirty-eight men—Marine, Navy, Air Force—in less than twenty-four hours. When I’m asked to give my testimony, I’ve been known to give it in two words: Koh Tang.

  ‘When I get back to Mitford and the dust settles, I’d like to tell you how I ended up in a collar. I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of hearing your story.’

  ‘I look forward to it. So what is your Rite Three?’

  ‘Skiing. Hiking. White-water rafting. Trout fishing.’ Father Brad’s smile would light up a room. ‘I’m a mountain guy all the way, with two beautiful daughters and four grandkids who love this stuff, too.’

  ‘We’ll be proud to have you and Daisy,’ he said.

  ‘And seven gardenia trees in containers. I’m haulin’ those babies out here personally. Tropical plants that love heat and humidity, and what do they get from me? Mountain winters.’

  Father Brad rewound the scarf around his neck and gave him what was known as a bear hug. ‘I’m proud to be called into the good company of this parish. He has set my feet in a spacious place.’

  A brother in the cloth, somebody to hammer things out with. The camel caravan from Gilead appeared on the horizon, saddlebags filled. Balm galore.

  • • •

  HE WAS GOING TO CALL HOPE when she rang the store.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said.

  ‘A little bleeding, but Dr. Wilson isn’t worried. All appears to be well, though I’m not to be up and doing.’

 
‘What about your sister, Louise? Can she come for a visit?’

  ‘Her work schedule is frightful. Soon, she says. I miss her.’

  ‘Family can be good medicine.’

  ‘I’m thankful for my Mitford family. Avette Harris is knitting an entire layette. With her left eye wandering as it does, she says she wouldn’t trouble herself with such vexation if she weren’t certain our baby will make it.’

  ‘Good on Avette.’

  ‘I must tell you that lying here has given me an awful burden of thinking.

  ‘The first thing, Father—will you pray for where I’ll stay during the month in Charlotte, before the baby comes? I’ve hesitated to ask because we ask so much of you already.’

  ‘Prayer is never too much to ask. Consider it done.’

  ‘Thank you from my heart. The other thing is . . . I’d like to do something for someone. People do so much for me that I can never repay their kindness. Scott has been given a wonderful raise at Hope House and I’d like to hire Coot. Three days a week, four hours a day.’

  ‘Ah!’ There was a beaming face if he ever saw it. ‘To do what, exactly?’

  ‘To do anything you wish . . . clean, carry out the trash, go to the store, take packages to the post office. And I’m sure the display windows could use a good washing. It would give a bit of relief to you and Marcie and Miss Pringle, but mostly, Father, it would give Coot the chance to be around books. He loves books.’

  ‘Very useful thinking!’ he said. ‘Yes, indeed. We should all take to bed for a dose of useful thinking!’

  • • •

  THE SIDEWALKS WERE SHOVELED, the town crew was on it. The snow, however, was still coming down. He arrived home with a box of organic popcorn, to find preparations under way in the study.

  The DVD player had its own remote, a notion he didn’t take to.

  ‘See this button?’ said Puny. ‘It says On. Now, see this button? It says Play.’

  ‘One thing at a time, please.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, see this button? What does it say?’

  The type was minuscule and on a black background, no less. Did the maker not consider the buying power of the senior citizen? Was this stuff produced chiefly for small children with 20/20?

  ‘My glasses,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get my glasses.’

  ‘They’re on your head,’ she said. ‘Okay, what does it say?’

  ‘On.’

  ‘Great! Push it.’

  He pushed it. A green light.

  ‘It works!’ said his wife.

  ‘Next, you’ll hit Play.’

  ‘Let’s see, where is Play?’

  ‘Right here, right next to On.’

  No wonder he never did this stuff, it was humiliating.

  ‘And here’s Pause. If you want to, you know, let Barnabas out or anything.’

  ‘We’ll never use Pause,’ he said, decisive. ‘And maybe you should leave it on so all we have to do is hit Play?’

  ‘If you say so. Lord help!’

  ‘Where’s the movie?’

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing him the thing. ‘Put it in right there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Hit Open.’

  A tray slid out.

  ‘Now put the disc in.’

  ‘Which side up?’

  Puny was ready to pack up and go home, possibly for good. His wife appeared to be taking a nap with Truman.

  • • •

  THIS WAS THE COOLEST THING they’d done ‘in ever,’ as Sassy might say.

  A forty-two-inch screen was a lot of real estate, and Kim Dorsay knew how to occupy it. They lounged on the sofa, mesmerized. How could they have just had dinner with this person who had shucked garlic like a pro?

  The phone rang. He leaned to the end table and checked the caller ID. Georgia. But he didn’t know how to work the Pause thing.

  ‘Hit Pause,’ he told his wife.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Somewhere around Off and On. Hey, buddy.’

  ‘Hey, Dad, I found your truck. Two years old, long bed, stick shift, leather seats, nineteen thousand miles, and you’re not going to believe this . . .’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It’s red.’

  ‘Man!’

  ‘Everything you wanted but crank windows. The windows are automatic.’ Dooley told him the price. ‘I checked that with the Blue Book. On the money.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘The Internet. It’s about sixty miles from you, in Hendersonville. You could ride over with Harley. But you need to move fast—the price is right, it’s clean, it won’t last long. I’ll email photos, the owner’s contacts, everything.’

  ‘Good job,’ he said. ‘Maybe next week. First thing.’

  The thought of buying a truck was a whole other feeling from that of buying a car. He was grinning like a mule eatin’ briars.

  ‘What did I miss?’ he said to his wife, who had obviously not located Pause.

  Chapter Twenty

  Saturday.

  He remembered how fraught his Saturdays had been when he was a full-time priest. Wrestling his sermon into acceptable form, trying to get over the week and rest for the morrow, hammering at his personal stuff.

  Then he retired, and he remembered how he dreaded trying to fill Saturdays with something worthy, up to snuff, accountable. And now here he was, maybe for the first time, really liking this day, feeling the liberty of it, the broad possibilities. Harley had said he could borrow the truck. The roads had been scraped, they could leave after lunch and be at the nursery by three o’clock.

  He opened the Old Testament at random. Ecclesiastes, aka Solomon or Ezra, God only knows, chapter three.

  To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven . . . A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance . . . A time to be silent and a time to speak.

  It was time to speak.

  Would it be a waste of breath? That wasn’t for him to determine. He would speak from the heart. Let the chips fall where they may.

  He looked out the study window. New snow was falling on the old, though nothing heavy.

  He auto-dialed, made the sign of the cross.

  ‘Hey, Sam! I’ve got a little time this afternoon. Want to go buy a tree?’

  • • •

  HE ANSWERED THE DOORBELL and there was Jena Ivey, nearly hidden from view by a great bower of hydrangeas in a color he’d never seen.

  ‘Holy smoke!’ he said to the owner of Mitford Blossoms. ‘Come in, come in.’ He moved the candlesticks, the Delft bowl on the console. ‘Right here.’

  ‘Hard to get this bronze color. They would look better on the coffee table in your study, Father. Not enough light in here.’

  Their voluptuous amber radiance was breathtaking against the background of falling snow.

  His wife was ecstatic and, he had to confess, so was he.

  Cynthia took the card from the envelope.

  With grateful affection from one

  who was lost and is now found

  Kim

  Having told Lace the backstory of the hydrangeas, they sat at the kitchen counter, Lace in the middle. Though they asked that she keep the twins’ story quiet for now, it would later be one to pass down through any family.

  ‘So tell us again,’ said Cynthia, ‘what you said to that pompous professor.’

  ‘I said, If you’uns wadn’t s’ full of yourself, you’d be a whole lot better at gettin’ people t’ pay attention.’

  ‘And what did the poor man have to say about that?’

  ‘He was completely startled, then he laughed. He thought I was joking.’

  Whooping with laughter, the three of them.

  ‘When
I get excited or happy or really, really angry, I start talkin’ like I did growin’ up. You know that Olivia hired a tutor to help me get over my old speech pattern. But when I went off to school, I guess I was still talkin’ like a hillbilly. For a long time, nobody would be my friend; people were ashamed to be with me.

  ‘Even now, the way I speak is just a surface thing, I can do it, but the old way is still there and I’m always trying to hold it back. Sometimes I get really tense from holding it back; it’s like trying to hold back who I am.’

  ‘And who are you?’ said Cynthia.

  ‘That is so hard. Deep down, I guess I’m the girl who grew up livin’ sometimes under a house that was fallin’ down, with a sick mama who turned her head to whatever my daddy done . . . see there?’ Lace put a hand over her face. ‘Once in a while, it just pops out.’

  ‘We sure love that girl,’ said Cynthia. ‘If memory serves me, which it often doesn’t, she’s that amazing person who got a scholarship to one of the finest universities in the country.’

  Cynthia put her arm around Lace. ‘Don’t ever be ashamed of that lovely girl under the house who educated herself from the bookmobile. She had grit and backbone if anyone ever had, and she’ll be there for you through thick and thin.’

  ‘Great good is written all over those hard times,’ he said. ‘God sent Absalom Greer to tell you about the one who loved us first; he sent Harley to give you refuge when you needed it; he sent the Harpers to give you the home you wanted and never had . . .’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I do know, and I’m really thankful.’

  ‘You and Dooley have much in common,’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes too much. But if we’re patient and talk things out, we can usually say, Okay, I get it, I understand why you did that. I think you know that Olivia arranged for us to see a counselor. Two whole years and we still go when we can, we even work with him on the phone. It helps, it really helps. Would you like to have your present now?’

  ‘Yes!’ said his wife. It was a day of presents.

  Lace went to the outsized portfolio she’d brought along, and unzipped it. ‘Don’t look. Close your eyes.’

  The clock ticking. ‘Okay, you can look!’

  He and Cynthia drew in their breath at the same moment. A Greek chorus.