The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (19 page)

“It’s good to see you again, Lorena. I see you’ve met each other.” Vera walked to the table also frowning into her coffee cup.

“We’re hearing about your family. I didn’t know your father was a pastor.”

“I come from a long line of pastors,” Vera said without a smile.

“Vera’s daddy pastored right up until the day he died.” Aunt Ula continued peering into her punch. “When he drew crosses on foreheads with ashes, he was so old and shaky, they looked like swastikas.” She snorted a laugh. “You should’ve seen the looks we got when we stopped by the grocery store on Ash Wednesday.”

“That’s enough, Aunt Ula.” Vera’s mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Niece, go get some cake for Allie, LoWena, and me. Relax. Join us. You’re working everyone hand over fist like a military operation.”

“You don’t need cake. It will ruin your lunch.”

Aunt Ula narrowed her eyes. “The Captain likes cake. He’s coming to get me.” She arose quickly for someone her age and grabbed a dirty paper plate. Her shoes smacked the floor as she headed toward the kitchen. “Thanks for the punch,” she said over her shoulder.

“I didn’t put anything in it. I was just kidding,” Lorena called after her. The small figure stopped and threw a smug look at the blonde.

“I got you out of this corner, circulating again, didn’t I?”

“Where are you going?” Vera’s words were respectful, but the tone dripped with a sense of get-back-here. “We need to leave; a neighbor’s coming over to give me an estimate on fixing the latest leak in my roof.”

“The Captain insists on a shipshape table. Wash your cup and stow it when you’re through, Vera.” Her white anklets beamed from the holes in her shoes.

“That’s the Aunt you were preparing for?” Allie rubbed her stomach, staring at the bony retreating form.

“My crazy Aunt Ula,” Vera sighed, sipped her drink, made an exasperated face, and set the cup on the table. “I think she salted my coffee.”

“Why’re her shoes like that?”

“She has bunions and won’t spend any money to have them fixed.” Vera rubbed her forehead.

Lorena smiled. “I love her lacy anklets with fancy buttons around the top.”

“
You
would.” Vera sighed and shook her head.

“So who’s the Captain?” Allie’s eyes were wide as she leaned forward.

“A figment of her imagination. She was never married. Sometimes she’s lucid, and sometimes she seems…a bit off.” Vera sighed again.

“Yeah. She’s crazy all right.” Lorena could see Aunt Ula bellied up to a counter in the kitchen, chatting and eating another piece of cake.
Crazy like a fox
.

WALT REMOVED HIS cap and rubbed his bald head with a handkerchief. A “V” of perspiration patterned the front of his blue shirt. “Okay, Lorena, I hung that big banner of yours in front of the church, but dang if I know what it means.”

Vera, sorting through a carton, straightened and stared. “Why? What does it say?”

“Now, now.” Lorena wiggled fingers at the older woman. “You said I’m in charge of publicity, and you wouldn’t interfere. We’ve got to create pizzazz to get people to leave their air conditioned cocoons and come out in this heat.”

“What does it say?” Vera stood upright, arms akimbo.

Walt pulled a toolbox from the donation bin and examined it. “You don’t need publicity. Folks show up every August. They always come.” He slid each drawer in and out. “I don’t know why people think they need others’ junk.”

Cartons blocked Vera’s path but she used her voice like an arrow, pinning Lorena in place. “What does it say?” Aunt Ula took advantage of the diversion to slip a sequined party dress over her clothes.

Lorena arced her hand like a banner across the room, “EXPERIENCED MERCHANDISE SALE.”

“Oh, heaven help us. It’s a rummage sale. You take a simple task—”

“Well, nobody wants to buy rummage.” Lorena looked around for Walt. He’d already made his getaway with the toolbox, leaving five dollars on the table. “We want people to know these are good, perhaps slightly experienced, quality items. Some of the merchandise was donated from two estate sales. Besides, the Presbyterians are having their sale this weekend, too. We want to set ourselves apart.” Lorena headed for an exit.

“Yeah, quality stuff. How experienced do you think these are?” Kay held up lacy women’s briefs.

“Lorena! Change that sign,” Vera yelled, but her publicity woman had escaped. “People will be a half-mile down the street before they figure out what it means. Kay, throw that out. Why anyone would donate undergarments is beyond me.” Vera shook her head.

Kay made a twenty-foot shot, lobbing the wadded ball of panties into a “FREE” box. “If you don’t have anything, then cheap, clean underwear is a godsend.”

Aunt Ula snatched them from the box, patting the sides of her party dress, looking for pockets.

“Hey, Aunt Ula, how’d you get your name?” Kay smiled as the elderly lady whisked her treasure behind her back and strolled away from the bin.

“I’ve told you before, dear, my name is French, for Ooh-La-La.” She busied herself with a jumble of purses.

“It
is
not.” Vera pulled tangled Christmas decorations from a shoe box. “Her name is Eulalia. I couldn’t say it when I was young, so she became Aunt Ula.”

“Isn’t that the most asinine thing you ever heard?” The old woman stuffed a large straw bag with contraband she’d hidden throughout the room “Who would call a child Eulalia? And my poor brother was named Faron.”

“Are those family names?” Kay said.

Aunt Ula examined a candle then shoved it into her purse. “Yes, some poor souls in our clan were saddled with ugly names, and our parents, being good Germans, continued the misery. But no kid who valued their front teeth called my brother Faron. He always went by Joe. That’s what we put on his headstone. When he was young, he inked over his name in the family Bible so no future generation would be tempted to call anyone Faron. I always thought that’s why he died so young. It can’t be good luck to scratch yourself out of the family Bible.”

“He died in the war. The Bible had nothing to do—” Vera straightened to stab Aunt Ula with a glare. “Get that dress off! We are here to unload boxes, not shop. Get it off. Right now. Before we started, I told everyone there would be no early shopping or saving things. That includes you.”

Kay hefted another box to the table. “Get real, Vera. That’s the main reason anyone helps. So they can get first pick. That’s why I’m here.”

“And I’m tired of listening to complaints that the good stuff is bought by the set-up crew. So it’s not happening. Come back and shop tomorrow with everyone else.”

“That’s probably why most of your volunteers left. You need to reward them. Let them buy something before the sale starts.”

Vera looked around, noticing for the first time that the number of helpers had silently diminished. “I’m checking on the outside crew,” she said as she went upstairs.

Aunt Ula waited several moments then cat-called down a hallway of Sunday school rooms, “You can come back now, LoWena. I saw you.”

“Thank you,
Eulalia
.” Lorena slipped into the room and grabbed a wooden flowerbox.

“Hiding your swag from Vera?” Aunt Ula added a small laugh as she folded a pair of pajamas.

“It’s better and easier than stashing it in a big purse.” Lorena pointed at the straw bag slung over the old woman’s wrist.

Aunt Ula shrugged. “At least I don’t hide in the Sunday school rooms.”

“You hide from Vera by acting nuts.”

“I
am
crazy. Who else would wear this color of shoes with this dress?” The old woman held the glittering skirt in front of her, shook it, and laughed.

Lorena held up a palm. “Someone’s coming. Break a sweat, girls.” She turned and hurried down the side hallway.

“They’ve left. I can’t believe it.” Vera’s voice shot down the stairwell. She emerged a moment later, hands stirring the air, each word pitching louder and higher. “And people are trying to bring donations today, even though the cutoff was a week ago. I caught Alice Hanson upstairs, unloading curtain rods. I told her she’d have to store it and donate it next year; we have all we can handle. Do you know what she told me?”

“I know what I would’ve told you,” Aunt Ula mumbled.

“Why don’t you
try
to be helpful?” Vera gave her a white-lipped, venomous look. “What have you done today?”

“I maintained this table in Bristol fashion by folding . . .” she held up the pajamas, “this!” Her bag slipped from her wrist, swinging down to the crook of her elbow.

“What’s that?” Vera walked toward her. Aunt Ula dropped the pj’s, clutching the straw purse to her chest.

Kay made her breakout, telling herself some problems were better left between family members. The last thing she saw was two white-haired ladies tugging a straw satchel, stitched in orange letters, “Miami.”

*

Roger parked his fifth Wheel at the church. He sat in a lounge chair under its awning, having a beer and guarding tools, furniture, barely-used treadmills, and plastic swimming pools. When Vera and Aunt Ula emerged from the church at 1 a.m., he kept an eye on them as he quietly stuck his two empties in a used fertilizer spreader. Vera had one arm around the old woman, urging her to keep moving. “Because we have to be back by 7 to set up.”

“You really put in a day,” Roger called out as he stood. “You’re welcome to spend the night in the trailer. I’ll let you have it.”

Vera looked up and gaped at the big RV. She let go of Aunt Ula and marched toward Roger, her eyes strafing him with criticism as she approached. “People are not going to steal from a church There’s no reason for you to be here, using the parking lot for your campground. I didn’t approve it. It’s neither appropriate, nor allowed by the city. Move it.” Without waiting for rebuttal, she turned and strode to her car. She had to return to drag Aunt Ula out of a lawn chair.

“Let me be,” the old woman protested. “It’s been a long time since I spent a night with a man.” Roger winked, gave her a thumbs-up, and settled back in his chair. Aunt Ula grinned and blew him a kiss as Vera tugged her to the car.

*

The Sunday school teachers arrived at 6 a.m. and began cooking. Within an hour, they were icing down their second batch of orange juice cartons. Church volunteers, arriving early to sort and price, had bought them out. The smell of sausage, onions, and breakfast burritos wafted through the parking lot.

Vera arrived, barking orders as soon as she opened her car door. Aunt Ula traipsed to Roger’s trailer and knocked. “Can I borrow one of your beds? I can’t dance all night like I used to.”

“Sure. Why didn’t you stay home and sleep?”

“Vera thinks I’ll burn the house down if she leaves me alone.”

“C’mon. I don’t know how much rest you’ll get. It’ll be noisy here. She gave him a no-big-deal-wave and climbed the vehicle’s steps.

It was 90º by 8 a.m. The pale blue sky had one tiny, puffball cloud to the north. A hot breeze rustled the sea of pop-up canopies along the lawn. Parked cars lined the street, and shoppers gathered at the rope tied across the church’s driveway. When it dropped, forty people hurried toward Lorena’s directional signs.

EXPERIENCED BABY ITEMS--DOWNSTAIRS

EXPERIENCED LAWN EQUIPMENT

REAR OF PARKING LOT

Shoppers made requests for lawn mowers experienced enough to mow by themselves. A shovel missing its handle sported a chalk label: “Had a bad experience.” Some jokester scratched the word, “Experienced” above the Food sign. Within a couple of hours all the volunteers had grown tired of Lorena’s unique marketing strategy.

By noon, the temperature had reached 100º. The cloud in the north had grown into tall, billowing towers. The Sunday school food booth began hawking sandwiches, but the big seller was homemade strawberry shortcake with piles of ice cream.

As Vera whisked around the sale, giving advice and negotiating prices, she searched for her aunt, asking if anyone had seen her. When Roger heard, he tracked Vera to the Fellowship Hall, informing her Aunt Ula was sleeping off last night in his trailer.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? I’ve been looking everywhere.” She scowled at him, dark circles underlining her eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

“Well, I have enough to do without worrying about her, too.”

Roger broke their stare-off with, “You never asked me. Besides, if you knew, you wouldn’t have let her sleep.”

“I should say not. It looks bad enough to have cars parked overnight at the church, much less an RV. People wonder what we do here all night. Your trailer wasn’t something I approved, but I was too tired to argue last night.”

“You’re welcome, again. Glad you feel like arguing today.” Roger watched Vera examine an antique picture frame someone claimed should be priced higher.

He made a mental note to leave his truck parked in front of her house tonight. Walt could take him home. She’d be mortified by the slightest hint of a man staying at her place. What would the neighbors think? He’d stick a sign in his back window, too: “Experienced Truck Driver
―
CHEAP.”

“Don’t you have lawn mowers or loud, noisy tools to sell?” Vera said, shooing her fingers at him.

He gave her a single nod. “Yeah, I’ve gotta lot to do.”

“Tell my aunt to report to me,” Vera called as he left.

*

Aunt Ula spent the afternoon following her niece around, referring to her as “Lady Astor” until Vera could stand no more. “Do something useful. Help sell merchandise.”

In a short while, Aunt Ula approached a young couple looking at a baby crib. “Do you find any of these attractive?”

“Which ones?” asked the man staring at the five sets of earrings she’d clipped to her ears.

“Any one you choose, and we have necklaces and pins to match.” She pointed to her chest bejeweled with beads and glass brooches. She’d slipped into her sequined gown again and was touring the grounds, selling adornments off her body.

When she saw Vera coming, she slipped into Kay’s canopy of crafts which no longer fit anyone’s décor.