Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything!

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Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 9

by Charlene Baumbich


  And that’s exactly what he was going to work on next, a letter for Roscoe and Sadie to send to Rick’s clients. The letter would advise clients that they were free to retrieve their files (easier said than done) and obtain other council. Or, should Roscoe and Sadie hire an official attorney to take over the probate for them before the letter went out, perhaps even find someone who could take over for Rick, the letter would extend an invitation for clients to make an appointment with the new attorney.

  “Helen,” Jacob said as he leaned in the doorway between their offices, “is it possible Rick or you kept a client roster?” Please say yes.

  Pastor Delbert Carol Jr. and his wife had not had a vacation in years. Although during the summers they went to his wife’s folks’ cottage for a brief stay now and again, and he’d spent a short bout alone at a retreat center, the two of them had not had their own time together for eons. “How long has it been, Delbert?!” she’d asked him several times over the last two years. He’d promised her some time alone. “Just let me get through Thanksgiving,” he’d said, “and we’ll be out of here.” His mother- and father-in-law were just awaiting word; if they could bring their cats (“Of course you can bring Frick and Frack, Mom!”), they would come stay with the Carols’ two children at the drop of a hat.

  But now there was a huge funeral and a town of hurting people. A shepherd couldn’t leave his flock at a time like this. Yet, he knew his wife was right: he’d been under ongoing stress and it was taking its toll. He was not only forgetful and having trouble concentrating, but he was as close to being irritable as he ever came.

  “Delbert, do you know what your voice just sounded like?” his wife asked him one day. “It sounded like you were reprimanding me.”

  “I’m sorry, honey, truly I am. I’ll try to be more thoughtful. No man should talk to his wife that way, especially not a pastor!” Then he gave her such a quick hug before whirling away to attend another meeting that she’d hardly felt the warmth of his body.

  Meanwhile Pastor Carol’s wife was nearly just as stressed, building her own case of the blues. She was tired of being such a low priority when it came to his time. Yes, she’d known what she was getting into when she’d married a man of the cloth, but there were limits to these things! She was also tired of always being referred to as “Pastor’s wife” instead of Marianne. She wondered if some people in town even knew what her name was. “Ask Pastor’s wife.” “Oh, let me introduce you to Pastor’s wife.” “Pastor, your wife wants to talk to you.” Those who did know her name had not only worn out the old joke “So how have things been on Gilligan’s Island lately, Mary Ann?” but they’d spelled it every which way under the sun and almost never correctly. She’d even once been referred to in the newsletter as “Pastor’s wife, Mary Beth.” It was as if she were invisible, or taken for granted. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d looped his arm through hers the way he used to do, or reached for her hand, or. . . . It was time the two of them got away, got reacquainted, renewed their spark.

  Although it was only December fourth, Delbert sat at his desk and thumped his pencil eraser on the “December 15” square of his giant desktop calendar. No way around it. Between funeral stuff, the aftermath of emotions, helping Sadie through her grief—not to mention the rest of the town—on top of Christmas preparations like the pageant. . . . No, he couldn’t leave now. Marianne was going to be upset, but she would just have to understand: he had no control over Rick’s death. Please, God. Help prepare her heart for this news.

  He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his hands, then raked his fingers through his thinning hair. When he went to put his glasses back on, the left earpiece fell off. He rested the glasses on his nose, pinning them at the bridge with his left pointer finger so they’d stay in place while he looked for the screw; he was all but blind without his glasses. After closer inspection, he realized it wasn’t just a matter of a missing screw; the hinge was broken. Is this Your idea of helping me, Lord? he asked as he shoved back in his chair in annoyance. He ducked down behind his desk to check the floor for the missing part, which he hoped he could tape. “Sorry, Lord” he said out loud, even though he hadn’t previously opened his mouth; he knew God heard his every thought and question. How’s this for a better question, Lord? he asked, running the palm of his hand across the floor, I promised my wife a short vacation. What am I supposed to tell her? Huh?

  “Your wife just told me she already knows.”

  Pastor bolted upright. He’d jumped so quickly that he knocked his head on the bottom of his desk and his glasses fell completely off. His heart was about to pound right out of his chest as he retrieved them from the floor. Was God talking to him out loud?

  “But she said to give her a call anyway.”

  Pastor bonked his head a second time before finally settling his glasses on his face, again pinning them to the bridge of his nose with his finger, and looking up. Dorothy was standing right square in front of him. “Goodness! Are you alright?” she asked as he rubbed his noggin. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Did you just say something to me?” he asked, his voice sounding taut.

  “I certainly did,” she said. “When my jaw flaps, it’s usually me talking!” She smiled, although her eyes showed concern as he continued to rub his head. “As much as I enjoy a good ventriloquist, I’ve yet to work with one!” she said, breaking out into laughter, then quickly shifting to concern. “Are you sure your head’s okay? Honestly, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  He just stared at her and nodded. Was it possible Dorothy was working with a ventriloquist of the highest order and God was moving her mouth, answering his silent prayers through her? With caution in his voice he asked, “What is it you think my wife already knows?”

  “I don’t think I know, I know I know. She told me herself—I just passed her in the narthex on my way in. I know for a fact she asked me if I was coming to see you and when I told her yes, she said, ‘Oh, Good! You can save me a trip down the stairs. Tell him I already know, but he should give me a call anyway.’ I think that’s how it went.”

  “Did she tell you what it is she knows?”

  Now it was Dorothy’s turn to stare. “Is this a new version of ‘Who’s on First’?” she asked with a chuckle. “Because if it is, I’m not very good at that sort of game, never have been.”

  “No, no game. I’m just wondering if she made any reference to what it is she knows.”

  “She didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I assumed you’d know what she was talking about.” Dorothy pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, staring at him as he continued to jam his finger into the bridge of his nose. “You know, Delbert,” she was one of the few people who called him Delbert sans the Pastor part, and she only did so when she wanted to address the man behind the cloth, “I’ve told you this before, but you need a vacation. And what happened to your glasses?”

  Delbert sighed, released his finger and slumped forward, his glasses falling on the desk where he left them. He felt blind inside anyway. Aside from God, his wife and Father O’Sullivan, if there was anyone trustworthy he could talk to, it was Dorothy Jean Wetstra. She’d known him since he was a baby. He’d lost his mother when he was only eight years old and Dorothy always felt as close as he’d come to a surrogate mom. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, elbows protruding straight out. He closed his eyes, pursed his lips for a moment.

  “Marianne and I both need a vacation, Dorothy. And we were just about to take a few days off when Rick died. I’ve checked the calendar and there is now no way we can go until after Christmas—but I’d promised her.” He released a great sigh that bordered on a moan. “I haven’t told her yet that we can’t go, I’m just dreading it.” He sighed again. “And my glasses just broke. Too many times of putting them on and taking them off with one hand, I guess. Marianne warned me about doing that. I should have tried the contact lenses
when she suggested them.”

  “Dear Lord,” Dorothy said, bowing her head and launching right into what she knew Delbert needed to hear more than anything else from her, “Delbert here loves his wife and we all know it. We all love him, and we hope he knows it. You know he needs a break—they both need a break from feeding this ever-hungry and needy flock. We don’t get your timing, God, but we just have to trust it. I ask you to give Marianne an extra dose of understanding and patience, and I ask you to quickly set a new plan in place for them, something they can look forward to in January when this congregation will make them take a trip, if I have to preach one Sunday myself! Amen.”

  Delbert opened his eyes and carefully settled his glasses back on his face, hoping the lenses would hide his pool of tears. He was so weary. He tried not to move his head so the tears wouldn’t spill. “Bless you, Dorothy. Bless you. You know, you didn’t know you knew, but you did,” he said, winking. And then he couldn’t help but laugh. “The only one who doesn’t know is me. And I guess I’ll just have to call Marianne to find out what she’s talking about. You said you were on your way to see me. What did you need?” He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his desk and laced his fingers together.

  “To be honest, I cannot remember. But I think God knew what you needed, and that was somebody to pray for you!”

  At Dorothy’s suggestion, Delbert decided not to phone Marianne, which he did far too often. Instead, he made the short walk over to the rectory to give her the bad news in person. No point being a coward. Dorothy’s prayer had helped shore him up—although the old King James Version of “O death, where is thy sting?” verse kept running through his mind and he thought, “The sting is going to be in my wife’s eyes when I tell her that once again we cannot take our vacation—due to death.”

  The Carols finally got things sorted out, for better or for worse. Earlier in the day Delbert had left a message for Marianne on the machine saying he’d be late for dinner, then promptly forgot he’d made the call. What with all the last-minute arrangements for Rick’s wake, and then the funeral, Marianne had already assumed he’d be tardy anyway. And previous to his message she’d also already guessed their trip would have to be postponed. She wasn’t happy about it when he confirmed her suspicions, but one of the things she loved most about the man she had married was his sincere commitment to love God and to do his best for everyone. What more could she ask—aside from an entire week, maybe even two, with him in January!

  Before he left, Marianne Rebecca Carol, the Pastor’s wife, shocked Pastor Delbert Carol Jr. by saying, “And Delbert, I’m going to Hethrow tomorrow to start shopping for a new nightgown for our trip. A black nightgown.” For a guy who was tired, she’d sure put the spring back in his weary step. The first place he walked was to the junk drawer to get some duct tape to temporarily fix his glasses.

  “And I, Marianne, am making an appointment for next week to finally get fitted for contact lenses. I don’t want to miss seeing a thing on our trip!”

  11

  Joshmeister,

  Your e-mail freaked me out, man! You must have just missed being *in* that accident. FREAKED. ME. OUT! No wonder you can’t stop thinking about that upside down car. The whole thing—your dead cell-phone battery, that guy in your town getting killed—FREAKED. ME. OUT.

  On a related topic, I’m sure Shelby gave you some extra lip-lock after she heard about it. Like they say, everything has a silver lining.And speaking of lip-lock, I finally got up the courage to try to kiss Jennifer good night—and she let me. It was a kiss worth waiting for and that’s all I’m going to say on the subject other than we’re going out again Saturday night.

  I bet it’s too cold for crawdad hunting now but maybe if Jen (sweet, huh?) and I are still together next spring, and you and Shelby are still together next spring, we can all go hunting. I bet Shelby’s as good at bagging them as you are (born and bred country girl that she is), but I know Jen (*so* sweet) would hate the slimy things, which would send her straight into my pumped-up arms. Did I tell you I’ve been working out with weights? I can see some progress. But enough on that topic.

  Jen (okay, I admit I can’t stop thinking about her) said her family stays home for Christmas. (RIGHT ON!) I think my Uncle Ned and his family are coming in which will be a blast. You remember him, right? He’s the funniest and the hairiest relative I have. I like him, but I hope I don’t sprout hair on my back like that. You gonna be here visiting your dad at all? Maybe your mom would let you bring Shelby for a day or two—then again, maybe after your last trip, your mom isn’t ever letting you drive anywhere ever again.

  Back to homework. But oh! How’s Dorothy doing? I’m glad her son got to stay longer. I hope they’re having a good time. I haven’t e-mailed Outtamyway for a long time but tell her I’m thinking about her and that I’m glad her son got to stay.

  Adios Amigo (Jen’s taking Spanish. Think I’ll call her before homework),

  Alex, aka Huge Pecks

  Dear Alex Huge Pecks (but I sincerely doubt it),

  I’ve read your lovesick letter—my stomach is still rolling. My advice to you is to get a grip. (Just kidding.)

  Working out, huh? This MUST be love! Do you remember when we were in sixth grade and we talked my mom into buying me a weight bench? Man, we were pathetic stick men. Hope you’re better at it now since you nearly choked yourself to death trying to lift ten pounds, as I recall. Good thing Jen (*so* sweet) hasn’t seen a picture of *that* studly muffin—not!

  About driving. You aren’t going to believe this, but Mom has actually mentioned getting a second car, and there’s no way to look at that other than it would be MINE! She said when I was gone for the holiday in the SUV and she was stranded way out here by herself, she realized how hard it was for me not to be able to get around when she was gone. I tried to stay cool. Got that responsible look on my face. “That might be a good idea,” I said, while inside I was screaming YES! She hasn’t mentioned it for the last two days, but I might bring it up at dinner tonight—if I see her. She is like obsessed with the mini mall.

  Back to my homework. Already called Shelby (awwwww). Since Mom wasn’t here we talked for forty-five minutes. It’s good to have your homework done when you’re lobbying for a CAR!

  Joshmeister, who will tell Dorothy hello for you—maybe soon when I drive to see her in MY NEW CAR!

  Less than two minutes after Josh pushed the send button, his cell phone rang. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Alex yelped. “A car? Get out of town!”

  “I am not kidding you,” Josh said. “I can hardly believe it myself. Shelby and I walked to the corner store today and grabbed a couple candy bars for lunch break since the school’s food’s taken a serious nose dive, and we also picked up a newspaper so I could start searching the car ads. I figure if I only point out used ones to Mom, that seems more responsible than assuming she’d get me a new one.”

  “Slightly diabolical, but I like it.”

  “I’ve circled maybe a dozen ads. The coolest is a . . . hold on here, let me grab the paper . . . ‘1998 Mitsubishi Eclipse. Low mileage. Good condition.’ Then there’s a 1997 Mazda Miata that sounds interesting and an older Pontiac Grand Am. I didn’t bother circling anything that didn’t have at least a minimal rad factor. But you didn’t hear that here.”

  “You better call me as soon as this deal goes down—if it really does.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got Mom in my pocket.”

  Nellie Ruth and Edward Showalter sat across from each other in a little Chinese restaurant in a strip mall on the Partonville side of the outskirts of Hethrow. Nellie Ruth looked from one oriental decoration to the other, her big brown eyes as delicate as china saucers, Edward Showalter thought. Her gaze panned from the bright yellow lanterns hanging from the ceiling, to the statues of red dragons with bugged-out eyes, to the octagonal aquarium back in the corner where her eyes landed. “Oh, that aquarium is just so beautiful. I love fish. They always look so relaxed and graceful, like mermai
ds gliding through the water.” Their waitress set a pot of hot tea between them. “Mmmm. Smells good,” she said, fanning the steam toward her nose with her hand.

  “Allow me to pour,” Edward Showalter said. He picked up the pot and served Nellie Ruth first, then himself. “Looks to be pretty dern hot, too,” he said, “so be careful.” The sounds of their synchronized blowing pleased him. Felt like it might be a sign.

  Nellie Ruth turned her head back toward the aquarium. “Ever have any pets?”

  “I’d say I’ve had more than my fair share of them over the years, mostly dogs.”

  “Oh, what kind?”

  He looked thoughtful, executed another quick blow and took a cautious sip of his tea. “I’d say mostly black-and-white kinds,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m partial to mutts, although I did once own a full-blooded beagle. Bubbles was the quirkiest dog I’ve ever known. Always up to one kind of mischief or another. Did you know beagles can climb telephone poles? Well, at least Bubbles could.” Nellie Ruth shook her head in amazement. She’d recently seen an advertisement featuring a lumberjack scaling a tree. She tried to picture a beagle doing the same. “I had this thick fence post—oh, I’d say a good five feet tall—I used to chain her to and I swear to you, I am not making this up: that dog could get up that pole and would sit right on top of it, just as pretty as you please. Looked like a flagpole topper. She’d sit as still as the post and sniff the air. She was one of those dogs that was . . . well, how can I say this? She was a good dog even when she was a bad dog, know what I mean?”

 

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