“We could add her bowl to the list of things to be on the lookout for while tooling around town. Or I could go out personally tomorrow and see if I could find it.”
“I’m sure she would appreciate it. Of all the mess the situation caused, that was the only thing to really faze her.”
“Maybe it was the last straw. I’ll run by in the morning before church.”
“Sounds good. I’m turning in or I’ll not be warming a pew myself tomorrow.” I patted him on his flannel-shirted shoulder as I went by and noticed a little thin spot developing on the crown of his head. If he was interested in Piper or any other woman, he’d better get on it. Bald may be beautiful but the process of getting from here to there certainly is not.
Six
As usual, some members of the family were up and ready for church the next morning, and some were not. Grampa and Grandma were waiting by the door. Loden sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and listening to the weather report on the old radio with tinfoil wrapped around the antenna. Mom rarely went to church, and Celadon was already there with her kids since she believed in the power of Sunday school. I attended about one week in four, and despite the fact I was bone tired and behind on my work, I wasn’t up to the idea of explaining to Grampa why my soul would be still saved if I missed this particular Sunday. I would have to also admit to being a bit curious about the gossip floating around town about Alanza and even if there were any animal sightings in the night. Sad to say, gossip, not God, was my motivation for pulling myself out of a warm cozy bed, but there it was.
The Congregtional church was just exactly what you would expect in a small New Hampshire town. The clapboards were white, the windows large and stained glass. A bell sat in a high steeple, and a narrow path led to the stairs. Grampa parked and Grandma and I headed for the church kitchen in the basement to drop off the maple Bundt ring she had prepared at the crack of dawn. Everyone always looked forward to her cakes. She used maple sugar for the sweetener and iced the top with a maple syrup glaze. As a final touch, she sprinkled maple-sugared chopped pecans on top.
At home, Grandma wouldn’t let her cakes be seen on anything but a glass-footed plate with a dome, but for church, she preferred for God to be the glory and settled for a sensible, if unattractive, plastic carrier. I thought God must have more good taste than anyone else, but my opinion on ostentation in church was not a popular one with anyone except my mother. Things like the plastic cake carrier were reasons why my mother never went to the church if she could help it. While my mother is as thrifty as anyone else when it comes to bargain shopping and wasting electricity, she simply cannot abide ugly. Even the mismatched paper cups and plastic spoons drove her bananas. Offerings of gelatin salads in reused margarine tubs were not something she could reconcile with the concept of God.
We stuck the coffee cake with the rest of the offerings along a long folding table in the center of the room. Service hadn’t even started yet, but the coffee already smelled scorched. I reminded myself to drop by the Stack later for a cup of something worth slurping. Piper wouldn’t let coffee like that down her sink drain, let alone into anyone’s cup. That was just one of the many reasons she stayed in business. The smell dissipated a bit as we climbed the narrow stairs to the sanctuary.
The church was better attended than usual. That is to say that instead of the usual seventy or so faithful souls, the count was closer to a hundred. There were only two ways I could explain the upsurge in attendance. Either everyone was looking to get right with their maker, or people wanted to be in the loop for the latest on Alanza and the gallivanting wildlife. Looking around at the heads bent together and whispering, I was jaded enough to think it was the latter.
I slid into the pew near the back in which all the Greenes always sat. Celadon, dressed in a starched navy shirtdress, every shiny brown hair in place, strode down the aisle. With a look of extreme exasperation on her face, she herded her children, Spring and Hunter, in next to me just as the opening hymn rattled to a stop. No one came to service to listen to Mindy Collins thump out her version of what God might consider to be a joyful noise. With considerably more enthusiasm than skill, she faithfully fulfilled her duties as the church organist no matter how many times others had told her she did too much for her own good. If only she weren’t so sincere herself, she might have taken the hint by now and let the local music teacher take over. As it was, the congregation was reconciled to helping her unemployed husband find a job that would require relocation. Either that, or praying for some sort of accident that would rob Mindy of the use of her hands despite the risk to their immortal souls.