The Cadwalders stared at Juts as if to say, “Why do these things always happen to you?”
She smiled weakly and continued on, then turned and called as low as she could, “Yoyo, come on, kittycat.”
Not only did Yoyo ignore the kind entreaty of her mother, she experienced one of those fits of ecstasy known primarily to members of the feline family and certain Catholics. She raced through the plants on the floor. She soared over flower arrangements wherever she found them. Some she cleared, some she didn’t. Galvanized into action by Pastor Neely’s uncompromising stare, the acolyte chased Yoyo, which heightened her celebration of her own powers. She put the brakes on as the lanky boy lurched past her, then she wheeled and gracefully arched onto the altar, where two identical, magnificent arrangements reposed on either side of the large, chaste gold cross. Tempting as those arrangements were, her pursuer was gaining on her. She ducked behind the cross. As he reached for her, she saucily and defiantly reached right back to bat at him. Being a good sport, she kept her claws sheathed.
Then she dropped behind the altar and stealthily crawled to the side as the acolyte got down on his hands and knees, providing the congregation with the sight of his rump, not perhaps the typical object of worship.
Beads of perspiration appeared on Pastor Neely’s forehead. Chester knew he should try and catch his cat, but he was convulsed with laughter and so weak from it he could barely move.
Celeste, Ramelle, and Fannie Jump sat in the third pew to the right of the aisle, pews being assigned according to when one’s family participated in founding the church or joined it. Tears of laughter rolled from their eyes.
Yoyo, not one to shun the spotlight, realized she had the congregation in the palm of her paw. She zoomed out from the consecrated area, vaulted onto the back of a pew, ran along it as hands grabbed for her, then casually jumped off, only to catapult herself onto the exquisite maroon velvet curtains. She climbed the curtains into the balcony, where she discovered the organist, a family friend, Aunt Dimps.
Terrified that Yoyo would feel compelled to play the organ, Aunt Dimps stood, her back to the organ, her arms outstretched.
The sight of Dimps in this strange posture caused Yoyo to reflect upon her actions. She sat stock-still, cocked her head to one side, and then walked toward her.
“Good girl, good kitty, Yoyo.” Aunt Dimps reached down to pick up the animal, who sauntered toward her.
Yoyo sidestepped those outstretched hands, leapt up, and landed kerplat on the keyboard. A dreadful screech boomed through the pipes, which so scared Yoyo she scooted off the organ, charged through the balcony aisle, and scurried down the back stairs, which emptied into the vestibule. She saw Buster and Juts out on the steps so she collected herself and walked out.
Juts, hearing the organ cacophony, had put two and two together. She crumpled on the steps, more from merriment than from shame, just as St. Rose of Lima’s opened its doors, the worshipers spilling out like children let out of school.
O.B. Huffstetler, sharp-eyed, guiding his most pregnant wife down the steps, noticed Juts. He called back for Louise, who was coming out the door. “Louise, something’s wrong with Juts.”
Her eyes followed the direction of his finger, as did everyone else’s.
As quickly as she could in her high heels, Louise ran down the steps, her orchid corsage bobbing with each step. Pearlie and the girls, now alerted, followed, charging across the square.
Breathless, she knelt down by her sister. “Juts, Juts, are you all right?”
Juts laughed so hard she was sobbing. She couldn’t respond.
“Aunt Juts.” Mary also knelt down by the aunt she loved.
“What are Yoyo and Buster doing here?” Maizie asked.
That sent Juts into renewed sobs of laughter.
Pearlie bent over and gently put his hands under his sister-in-law’s arms. “Uppie-do.” He lifted her to her feet, where she sagged against him.
“I think we’d better get the doctor,” Pearlie said.
“No.” Julia shook her head, tried to say something, and then fell apart all over again.
By now the congregation of St. Rose’s, as well as St. Paul’s Episcopal, was gathering on the steps of Christ Lutheran.
“Is she all right?” asked Junior McGrail, who secretly hoped she wasn’t.
Juts nodded.
“Well, what’s wrong?” Popeye Huffstetler, ever the reporter, bluntly asked.
Juts kept laughing and pointing to the dog and the cat.
Junior, now upon them, remarked in a stage whisper to Caesura Frothingham, her best friend, “Imagine, Easter Sunday and she’s got dirty fingernails. I wouldn’t want someone to do my hair with dirty fingernails.”
Try as she might, Juts couldn’t scrub out the dirt from planting tulips and bushes all night.
Juts blinked back the tears. “Junior, you only have two hairs on your head.”
Obviously, Juts was recovering.
Christ Lutheran’s service ended and out rushed the rest of the congregation. Within seconds the details of Yoyo and Buster’s adventure were being told. Most laughed. A few holier-than-thou types were scandalized.
Chessy, Cora, Celeste, Ramelle, and Fannie Jump howled with each detail of Yoyo’s rampage being told.
Chester picked up a purring Yoyo. “Bet the devil made you do it.”
This sent everyone into peals of laughter again.
Junior scanned the park. “I don’t remember azalea bushes there.” She pointed a pudgy finger.
“Oh.” Ramelle shrugged.
“They’re interspersed with tulips. As president of the Sisters of Gettysburg, I planted that with my girls, and it was solid tulips,” Junior babbled.
“Hey—” Caesura, a former president of the S.O.G., exclaimed, “George Gordon Meade’s statue is desecrated.”
“He’s listing to port,” Popeye observed.
Fannie Jump Creighton, serving president of the Daughters of the Confederacy, carefully held her hands behind her back. “Always said Meade was tilted.”
“You started the war!” Caesura snapped.
“I wasn’t even born. Hell, you’re so old, Caesura, not only do you remember that war, you probably led the Charge of the Light Brigade for the mother country.”
“Well … well … I never! And on Easter Sunday.” Caesura thumped her parasol on the steps. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Fannie Jump Creighton. I know you’re in on it somehow.”
“Oh, balls.” Fannie stonewalled her.
“How dare you.” Caesura cracked Fannie over the head with her parasol.
“Idiot!” Fannie grabbed Ramelle’s parasol and the two ladies dueled.
Buster barked and Yoyo’s eyes got big as bowling balls.
Chester and Pearlie grabbed Fannie Jump, a substantial example of the female species, while Popeye and Pastor Neely, robes flapping, grabbed Caesura.
“This is dreadful. This is just dreadful,” Junior wailed.
Caesura, shaken as a hen smoothing back its feathers, pointed her parasol at Fannie Jump. “I will have satisfaction.”
“Now, Popeye, you’ve got to keep this out of the paper.” Junior hung on Popeye’s arm. He was already scribbling. Her weight slowed down his progress.
Getting nowhere with Popeye, Junior seized Walter. “You can’t embarrass her this way. She was insulted publicly and you know how hard Caesura works for the community.”
“Junior, I never tell my boys what to write.”
“Then I am never advertising in the Clarion again!” That said, she thumped down the steps, Caesura in tow, just as Extra Billy Bitters, fresh from the Baptist service, bounded up the steps to Mary.
Louise smoldered.
“Honey chile,” Cora whispered in her ear, “we’ve had confusion enough for one day.”
Celeste smiled and sighed. “Mary and Extra Billy find each other more fascinating than we do.”
“You forget how it feels to be young and in lov
e.” Ramelle beheld her broken parasol, as Fannie, now released, and panting, joined them.
“Blistering idiot. Caesura Frothingham is truly one of the stupidest women I have ever known. If she had a brain, she’d be dangerous. As it is, she’s marginally amusing.”
“Now, Fannie.”
“Oh, Celeste, don’t stick up for her.”
“I’m not, but—”
Pastor Neely, not having shaken hands with them as was his custom at the end of each service, came over, his hand extended. “He is risen.”
“Amen.” Fannie solemnly shook his hand.
Pastor Neely then met with the Hunsenmeir group. “Louise Trumbull, what a happy surprise to have you on the steps of Christ Lutheran.”
13
At six-thirty on Holy Monday the phone rang at the Smith residence. Buster lifted his head off his paws, then put it back down. The phone always rang at six-thirty.
Juts, making her first pot of coffee while Chessy shaved, picked up the heavy black receiver. “Toodle-oo.”
“We’re not on the front page, thank God,” Louise said, relieved as she scanned the details of the altercation on the steps of Christ Lutheran Church and the mysterious damage to George Gordon Meade. “Do you have your paper?”
“Yes, Buster got it. I’m opening it up right now. You’re right.” Then Juts flipped through. “We’re not on the front page. We’re on page two.”
“Oh, no.” Louise, in her excitement, had read through the front-page story, a war report that was continued on the rear page. She hadn’t opened the newspaper. She quickly read:” ’Buster Smith and Yoyo Smith, an Irish terrier and a large long-haired alley cat, both owned by Mr. and Mrs. Chester Smith, joined the congregation of Christ Lutheran Church on Easter morning. Perhaps moved by Pastor Neely’s sermon concerning the resurrection as a rebirth from our animal selves, the cat and dog contributed to the services. Yoyo Smith showed herself adept at flower rearranging and Buster Smith was in charge of refreshments.
“‘The highlight of the service came when Yoyo played the organ. Mrs. Smith declared her cat has always been musical, a fact confirmed by Sevilia Darymple, church organist. Mrs. Smith, the former Julia Ellen Hunsenmeir, with her sister, Mrs. Paul Trumbull, is opening a hair salon on Frederick Street behind the Strand Theater named the Curl ‘n’ Twirl. The grand opening will be May 15. According to Mrs. Smith, Buster and Yoyo will also be employed at the salon.’”
As Louise paused for breath, Julia said, “Pretty good free ad, isn’t it?”
“I don’t remember you giving Popeye an interview.”
“I called him after we got home from Mom’s Easter dinner. I guess we’re even now,” Juts said.
“No, we’re not. That horrible article about you and me with that dreadful front-page picture. I mean, I looked like death eating a cracker and you looked, well, not yourself.”
“Okay—but this is a good start, Louise. Popeye can do a little more penance.”
“May 15.” Her voice fell. “Do you think we can do it by then?”
“We have to. Anyway, now that Junior McGrail isn’t advertising in the Clarion, let’s make hay while the sun shines.”
“She’ll advertise in the Trumpet.”
“So, we’ll get all the new people in South Runnymede.”
“Julia, there are no new people in South Runnymede.”
“Louise, you’re such a pessimist, besides which I’ve got some really good ideas.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
14
The events of the last two days had drained Louise, but she didn’t realize it until she met Juts at their store to pick out wallpaper. She sat on the floor with a thud. Her Boston bull, Doodlebug, squatted next to her, ignoring the entreaties of Buster to play.
“Julia, after what happened yesterday I should think you’d give Buster a rest.”
“You’re the one who needs a rest. You look like the dogs got at you under the porch.”
Louise snarled, “Thank you so much.”
“Jeez, Louise, if I can’t tell you, who can?” Juts bent her head over the big wallpaper book. “These colors are good but the pattern is too busy. Chinese ladies under willow trees. Now, let’s see—”
“Don’t turn the pages so fast. You know, Juts, I still don’t think this is such a good idea. The wallpaper will peel. We should paint and be done with it. A high-gloss.”
Julia pointed to many cracks in the walls. “Do you know how long it will take to fix those?”
“Pearlie said he’d come on down in the evening and do every single one.”
“He did?”
“He’s being very cooperative. Any luck with Chessy?”
In a voice higher and thinner than usual, Juts replied, “He’ll do it.”
Louise sighed. “It’s been a hectic week, hasn’t it?”
“Hectic? It’s been crazier than hell. Must be something in the air.” She lifted the heavy sample book off her lap and gave in surprisingly easily. “If Pearlie will fix those cracks, then we ought to go with high-gloss.”
“Something that won’t show the dirt so easily.” Louise was glad her little sister saw things her way for a change. “A good rich color.”
“Basic black.”
“Will you concentrate?”
“I am. I lugged this book over, didn’t I? You know, we need a radio in here right now. We’re going to be hours and hours on our feet, so let’s get some music. Hey, don’t forget the dance this weekend out at Dingledine’s.”
“I’m too tired to think about dancing.”
Each year the nursery held a big dance at the old barn on the property. If it rained they went indoors, if not they danced outside on a specially constructed dance floor. The Dingledines knew partyers would pass through the nursery, see the spring shrubs and flowers, and maybe come back during the day to pick some up.
“Louise, why don’t you go home and take a nap? I’ll do this.” Juts pulled measuring tape out of her pocket.
“I’m better off here. If I go home I’ll find even more to do. Mary and Maizie aren’t lifting a finger these days. All Mary does is moon, cry, or sing. Maizie gets distracted by Mary and then she’s late doing her schoolwork. That comes first, so the chores—” She trailed off.
Juts, not especially riveted by tales of domestic arrangements, walked across the room. She held the tape with her thumb on the floor, then ran it up three feet. “Countertops this high.”
“Wait a minute.” Louise scrambled to her feet, walking gingerly for a few steps. Then she stood next to the tape, making imaginary grooming movements, reaching for scissors and combs. “Three inches higher.”
Juts ran the tape up three inches. “Pretty good?”
“I think so. Let me hold it for you.” Louise pinched the top of the tape, holding it steady.
Juts performed imaginary motions herself. “That’s fine with me. Ought to work in case we take in other hairdressers, unless one is a midget.” She reached for the tape. “Now, over here I think we should build a wall so we can have a little private space in the back.”
“We’ve got a storage closet back there. Go sit in the storage closet if you need privacy. It’s big enough.”
“Louise, that will last ten minutes and we’ll both hate it. All Chessy has to do is throw up some two-by-fours out to here, see?”
“And where do we get the money?”
“We don’t. He can ask Walter Falkenroth for leftovers. There’s always waste. It will cost us lathing and more paint, but we get privacy.”
“What are you going to do with that privacy?”
“Smoke a cigarette, drink a beer, and play solitaire.”
“You will not drink during working hours.” Louise put her foot down.
“Don’t be a pill.”
“I won’t have it. As for smoking, that cigarette is stapled to your lip. You don’t need to go in the back room to puff.”
“I happen to be smoking right now, but I don’t
smoke as much as you say. Anyway, it’s awfully nice to sit down, have a drag and a hot cup of coffee away from the searching eye.”
“Well …” Louise mulled it over. “Only if Chessy can get the wood free.”
“Good.” Julia clapped her hands, which made both dogs run over to her. “Sorry, guys.” They sat back down. “We’ll have to give Harmon’s wife free haircuts, and let’s see—who else?”
“Why?”
“Because he could have thrown Mary and Extra Billy in jail, that’s why. Wheezer, are you sick or something? You’re not firing on all pistons today.”
“I’m pooped.”
“I’d be pooped too, if my daughter ran off with a no-’count. Firing the gun wasn’t her finest hour, either.”
“She’s high-strung.”
“High-strung? She’s certifiable!”
“Julia, there is nothing wrong with my daughter’s mind.”
“There is now.”
“You usually stick up for her.” A hint of anger crept into Louise’s voice.
“No, what I do is tell you to lay off Extra Billy. The more she’s around him, the more she’ll see him for what he is, a very handsome piece of white trash.”
“She’s not your daughter.”
“Let’s not get into this. We’re both tired. We’ve got one month left to get everything ready. I’m trying to find a salon that’s going out of business. Maybe we can pick up equipment cheap. I called some shops in Baltimore and they promised to call back if they hear anything. Maybe you could call York and Hagerstown so all the long-distance charges won’t be on my line. Chester’s still mad about all this.”
“He’ll get over it. Say, did you see Rillma Ryan at the train station yesterday? I passed her coming back from Mom’s. She looked so pretty all dressed up. Imagine having a job in Washington.”
“Yeah, if I weren’t a married woman I’d go on down myself. Men everywhere!”
Louise would die before she’d admit that she felt life was passing her by. She had never worried about that before, but lately the thought lazed through her mind like one of those biplanes with advertising streamers dragging along the beach at Atlantic City. You never knew when it was coming. You’d hear a drone and next thing you knew there it would be, the pilot waving as he came in just beyond the shoreline. Her streamer read, “You’re getting old. How long have you got?”
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