Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 09 (8 page)

“All I said was that I found some scribbles,” she said as she watched the sweat dribbling down the sides of his face and clinging to the tip of his nose. “In this particular case, they had dollar signs attached to ‘em.”

He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Was he working on the family budget?”

“No, he was not, Brother Verber. From what I could tell, he’s been offered two hundred dollars an acre for that land next to Bur’s. That adds up to forty thousand dollars all together.”

“That’s a lot,” he said, gripping her knee so she’d know he was as concerned as she was. “It’s hard to imagine Jim Bob turning down that kind of money just to save the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall from the likes of this Malachi Hope fellow.”

She tried to keep her chin from quivering, but it was a lost cause. Her eyes were stinging and her throat was so tight she could hardly swallow back the bitter taste in her mouth. “We can’t let this happen. I tried to talk to Arly, but she wouldn’t listen to a word I said. She was—she was downright flippant, if you must know.” She opened her purse and pulled out a lacy white handkerchief to dab her nose. “I don’t know what to do, Brother Verber.” He was so touched by this unprecedented display of vulnerability that he allowed his hand to move to her thigh and squeeze her supple flesh. “Don’t you worry about this, Sister Barbara. I have a plan—and a real fine one, if I do say so myself. When you showed up a few minutes ago, I was just running through the details to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. Why, a week from now we’ll look back at this and laugh ourselves sick at the way we was all worried.”

“What’s your plan?” she said, sniffling into the handkerchief.

“I can’t tell you until I’ve prayed to the Lord for approval. Sister Barbara, why don’t we both git down on our knees and thank the Lord for sending me a plan to save our little town?”

“If the Lord sent the plan, why do you need his approval?”

Brother Verber clasped his hands together and slid to the floor. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” he murmured as he started praying more fervently than he had since he’d been asked to explain in front of most everybody in town why he owned a life-size inflatable doll named Suzie Squeezums.

This was a true test of faith.

“You’ll never guess what Lydia Twayblade told me,” Elsie McMay said as she reached for another slice of pound cake. She and Mrs. Jim Bob were sitting out on the sunporch, where they could admire the results of the latter’s undeniable gardening prowess. The impatiens in particular were thriving along the wall at the back of the yard. Elsie was a mite jealous, having never had much luck with impatiens.

Mrs. Jim Bob was looking in the same general direction, but she was thinking of neither the flowers nor the challenge submitted to her. The last two days Jim Bob had flat out refused to discuss the pending sale and stayed down at the SuperSaver from dawn until well after midnight. Brother Verber kept insisting he had a plan, but he was vague when it came to offering any hints. She had debated trying to talk some sense into Burdock Grapper and had gone so far as to drive out to his house, before she lost her resolve and kept on going until she ended up in Hasty.

“You know who Lydia Twayblade is, don’t you?” Elsie said to prompt her hostess.

“I just find it hard to believe she said something of interest, Elsie. She is one of the most tiresome women in town, all the time acting high and mighty when she’s nothing but a glorified nurse’s aide out at the county home. It’s no wonder the undertaker goes out there once a week; Lydia bores the old folks to death.”

“Lydia told me that a woman turned up out there yesterday afternoon and said she was Seraphina Hope. Before Lydia could stop her, she was out on the porch inviting all the old folks to come to the revival.”

“That hussy!” gasped Mrs. Jim Bob.

Elsie took a sip of tea. “Lydia said Seraphina was real sweet and lingered more than an hour asking the residents about their health and their families. She even sang for them. Ol’ Petrol Buchanon got so excited his teeth fell on the floor right next to her foot. She just laughed and handed them back to him. Petrol is Diesel’s youngest brother, or so I seem to think. He’s eighty if he’s a day, of course.”

“May I assume Lydia Twayblade has enough decency not to allow the old folks to be carted out to some tent and made to sit for hours and hours on a hard bench?”

“Seraphina promised that they would all be settled in comfortable wheelchairs so they wouldn’t get tuckered out by walking down the aisle.”

Mrs. Jim Bob snatched up the cake plate and took it into the kitchen. When she returned, her face was pale but composed. “What else have you heard?” she said, forcing herself to sound only mildly curious.

“She was at the SuperSaver,” Elsie admitted cautiously. “I was waiting in line when I chanced to see her come out of Jim Bob’s office. Her blouse was so tight I wondered why the buttons didn’t pop off, and her skirt barely covered her panties.” She decided not to describe Jim Bob’s expression and instead said, “I’d better run along. Lottie’s picking me up shortly to go shopping in Farberville for something to wear to the revival.”

After Elsie left, Mrs. Jim Bob went inside and tidied the kitchen, then sat down on her newly upholstered sofa in the living room and tried to think up a foolproof scheme that would send Malachi Hope and his wife slinking out of town like whupped dogs. Despite Brother Verber’s assurances that he and the Lord had everything under control, she suspected her position in the community was in grave danger.

—==(O)==—

Ruby Bee tried to act casual as Estelle came across the dance floor and perched on her favorite stool. She even went so far as to pour a glass of sherry and scoot a basket of pretzels down the bar. “Heard anything new?” she asked as she began to wipe the pristine surface of the bar with a dishrag.

Estelle shrugged. “Millicent McIlhaney says Darla Jean’s been spending time with Malachi Hope’s wife’s sister. I reckon that’s who was in the backseat of the station wagon the other day when we saw it at the low-water bridge.”

“I reckon so,” Ruby Bee said, sucking on her cheeks to keep from blurting out her news.

“I think Millicent was relieved when Chastity wasn’t allowed to go riding around with Darla Jean anymore. She happened to overhear overhear a snippet of conversation when the girls didn’t know she was in the kitchen, and she said she was dumbfounded at some of the foul language.”

“You’d think someone who lives with a preacher would mind her mouth.”

Estelle gave Ruby Bee a condescending smile. “Millicent was referring to Darla Jean.”

“Everybody in town knows she talks like a sailor,” said Ruby Bee, shooting back an equally condescending smile. After a few more swipes, she tossed the dishrag in the sink. “I had a surprise earlier today.”

“So did I. Millicent was on time for her appointment for the first time since Hiram’s barn burned to the ground, and that must have been a good fifteen years ago.”

Ruby Bee sniffed. “If you don’t want to hear about it, that’s just dandy with me. I’ve got more pressing things to do than stand here discussing Millicent’s tardiness. Maybe I’ll go start the chicken and dumplings.” She headed for the kitchen door, but slowly, so she could be persuaded to stop before it was too late.

“So what’s your surprise?” Estelle asked grudgingly.

Ruby Bee whirled around and pointed at the end of the bar. “Seraphina Hope came in and sat on that stool. You’d think someone who’s been on television would be uppity, but she was just as nice as she could be. I couldn’t help thinking of Dolly Parton—and she’s the sweetest, most honest person that ever came out of Nashville. Seraphina said they enjoyed the green bean casserole the very day we dropped it off, and asked for my recipe. She was real interested in learning about Maggody. We were having such a friendly conversation that I liked to have burned the cherry cobblers.”

“I wouldn’t think there’d be all that much to talk about. What did she want to know—the details of Marjorie’s pedigree or the tomfoolery that went on during the Missionary Society election last year?”

“Regular stuff about who all lives here and what folks do to earn a living. When I told her about your beauty parlor, she said she just might call and make an appointment to get a trim. Her hair’s frizzier than yours, if you can believe it, but I gather hers is that way on purpose rather than the result of a disastrous experiment.”

Estelle finished the sherry and banged down the glass. “I guess I’d better go home and hide under the bed until my hair grows out. It can’t take more than six or eight months.”

“She gave me special passes for the first night of the revival. They keep the first few rows reserved for invited guests. I can’t see Jim Bob taking her up on the offer, or Mrs. Jim Bob, either. I hear her nose is bent way out of shape these days. Anyway, I asked for a pass for you, too, so we can sit together.”

“Lucky us,” muttered Estelle, who was trying to decide what she could do with her hair if everybody in the county was gonna be looking at the back of her head. It might be time to buy a hat, she concluded.

—==(O)==—

“What a bitch,” Chastity said as she turned on the water in the shower and let the cool spray wash away what felt like an inch of sweat. She reached for a bar of soap, then decided it was too much effort and let her arm fall. “I’m already three-quarters dead, and this is only my first day of practice. I wonder if they’ll bury me with my halo?”

“You have a halo?” asked Darla jean from the next stall. Based on what Chastity had let drop, it seemed improbable that she was a candidate for any of the roles in the Christmas pageant. It was hard to tell how much of it was true and how much was so much hogwash, though.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Chastity snapped. “Mind your own damn business—okay?”

Darla Jean pulled aside the plastic curtain separating them, made a face, and yanked the curtain back into place. “Well, excuse me,” she said, allowing her irritation to come through as loud and clear as a TV commercial. “I’m just a redneck from a pissant little town, and I ain’t never seen no honest-to-God real live angel afore. Here I was planning to ask you for your autograph, Miss Hope. You got a pen in there, Miss Hope? If you do, you can sign my ass, Miss Hope.”

There were a few giggles and snide remarks from the other stalls, but for the most part the dozen girls were too tuckered out to worry about anything other than sore muscles and bruises. Coach Grapper insisted they practice with the same intensity as in regular games. Anything less resulted in extra laps. Chastity’s eyes were narrowed to reptilian slits, but she adopted a penitent voice. “Sorry, Darla Jean. It’s just so friggin’ embarrassing, you know? By Monday morning, I’ll be the laughingstock of the town. It happens every place we go.”

“Nobody’s gonna laugh at you,” Darla Jean said. “If they do, they’ll have to answer to me and Heather.” She paused while she rinsed out the shampoo and then added, “What would happen if you refused?”

“No one says no to Malachi.”

“That’s stupid,” Heather said from another stall. “What’s he gonna do—spank you and send you to your room without supper?”

Chastity twisted the spigot and tried not to yelp as cold water splashed onto her face. They didn’t understand, but she sure as hell wasn’t gonna try to explain about Malachi. When she was shivering so hard her teeth chattered, she turned off the water and wrapped a skimpy gray towel around herself. It reminded her of the detention center where she’d spent three months after she was caught shoplifting; the woman from social services said it would teach her a lesson. The lesson Chastity had learned—don’t get caught—may not have been what the woman had in mind.

As she came out of the stall, one of the girls whose name she didn’t know said, “What’s with that guy that rides the motorcycle? Is he as hot as he looks?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Chastity said as she found a seat on a bench and began to dry her hair, “and he’s a helluva lot hotter than he looks. If he ever bothered to even glance at you, you’d turn to ashes and go floating away in the wind. He has that effect on virgins.”

“Who says I’m a virgin?”

“No one, Carlotta,” said Darla Jean as she emerged from her stall. “According to Billy Dick MacNamara, you’ve made it with pretty much anything that wears a jock strap.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“Make me.”

To everyone’s dismay, Coach Grapper’s voice crackled through the intercom before the matter could be resolved in a thoroughly uncivilized fashion.

“Listen up,” she said. “I want you all to get dressed and be out on the bleachers in two minutes. Anyone who’s not there will do twenty-five sit-ups. Got that?”

The squeals from the stalls and subsequent activity indicated everyone had. Exactly two minutes later, Norma Kay strode out of her office, made sure no one was missing, and said, “You’ll be glad to know we aren’t going to be obliged to have a rummage sale or a car wash to raise money for the team. I just had a real interesting call from a man named Thomas Fratelleon.”

“Oh, shit,” muttered Chastity, then hunched down behind Carlotta as the coach glowered at her.

Norma Kay let it go and continued. “With the exception of Chastity, you all are going to be ushers during the revival. We’ll get a hundred dollars a night, which means at the end of the week we’ll have seven hundred dollars in the account. That’s more than enough for the tournament in Pine Bluff, and we may be able to go to the one in Longspur, Texas, too.”

Heather figured she was on real thin ice, but she raised her hand and said, “I can’t be there every night, Coach Grapper. My family’s going to Arkadelphia in the middle of the week to see my grandmother. She’s so sick the doctors say she may die any day now.”

“I told this man that all of you will attend every night. Explain this to your parents and arrange to stay with one of your friends. This is a team project, as well as a service to the Lord. Now, you need to report to the tent at six o’clock Sunday evening, dressed in church clothes and low heels, to get your instructions. I’ll be there to take roll.”