Christin George crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't do anything for Minnie," she said. "But I can and I will write an excuse for Denise. I can and I will say that she had permission to loan her cycle to Missy Jenkins. I can and I will say that she had permission from me to take Buster's cycle."
Joe Pallavicino frowned at her. Her stance was reducing the meeting to something of a standoff.
"Take Buster's cycle where?" Inez asked.
Christin looked at her. "Just to take it."
"Looks like they went somewhere," Benny Pierce said. "So the better question might be where they went and why they went there."
"Where did you go, Minnie?" Veronica asked. "Why did you let Ron Stone borrow your hog?"
Minnie shook her head. "I can't tell you. I really can't. Not either one. We're all back safe now."
Veronica started to say something.
"I can't tell you," Minnie repeated. "But it was important. I promise you that. If you ask me to, I'll swear upon the eye that Mayor Dreeson gave me that it was important."
The time that Minnie Hugelmair spent at First Methodist did not appear to be making much impression on her overall world view.
A flash of light reflected on the ceiling. Inez looked out Benny's front window. It was Gina Goodman, the headlights of a power plant truck shining at the house, sticking her head out and yelling, "If you're still trying to find Ron and Missy, they're at Wes Jenkins' house! Chandra's with them."
She paused. "Christin, there's someone up at the storage lot who needs you ASAP to get something out."
Gina took off. So did Christin.
Breaking off the recriminations, the mentors and mentees refocused on the immediate concern. Getting the girls' motorcycles back. They headed for Wes' place, Denise and Minnie running ahead while Veronica pushed Inez' wheel chair.
Benny, Joe Pallavicino, and the Reverends Jones shook hands and assured one another that they would have another try at straightening this out tomorrow.
A half block from their goal, Inez and Veronica saw Chandra running out toward the girls; then right back in again, Denise following her. Minnie headed back toward them.
"Clara's having the baby. With no one to help her except Ron and Missy and Chandra. Chandra has to keep an eye on Weshelle because she's learned how to climb out of the playpen and Lenore can't keep up with her. Weshelle took a long nap this afternoon and is probably good to go until midnight. Lenore keeps trying to phone for help, but she can't get a dial tone anywhere."
"My mother was a midwife," Inez said. "I've delivered plenty of babies. Just get me to her."
Veronica started to push the wheel chair faster. Minnie grabbed the handles, which definitely picked up the pace. Once they got to the house, Ron and Missy carried Inez, wheelchair and all, up the front steps.
From the vantage point of the front hall, they looked up an intimidating flight of stairs, too narrow for them to stand on either side of the wheel chair.
Lenore called from the other end of the hallway, where she was trying to fasten a wriggling Weshelle to a tether, that Clara was upstairs by herself, that there was no way that Clara could possibly come down, and that somebody had to do something right now. Like, preferably, getting hold of Kortney Pence, who was scheduled to do this delivery. And getting hold of Dad, who had called before the phones went down to say that he had scheduled a late meeting down at the legislative chambers, in the senatorial office.
Ron and Missy formed a chair with their arms and carried Inez upstairs to where Clara was. Ron ran back down for the wheel chair.
Denise, spotting her motorcycle next to the front steps, grabbed the stacks of paper someone had stuffed into the sidecar, dumped them into the playpen that Weshelle had obviously outgrown, and headed for Leahy. If she couldn't get Kortney, she could get someone medical at the hospital.
Kortney, thank goodness, was there. Denise had a funny feeling that there wasn't much time to spare. Kortney picked up her own baby, loaded her into a chest sling, and grabbed the kit she used for home deliveries.
From the things Clara was saying, loudly, clearly, and entirely in German, it was obvious that she had a firm grasp on who she held ultimately responsible for the whole situation.
"Minnie," Veronica said, "Go downtown and find Wes. Get hold of Wes Jenkins, somehow. I don't care how. Legislative chambers, senator's office. Now."
To Minnie, the obvious solution was the other motorcycle. She dumped the second set of papers out of the sidecar into Weshelle's abandoned playpen.
Minnie braked to a stop. Thinking back briefly to the obvious ire with which several policepersons had viewed her motorized dash through the "pedestrians only" section of town, she decided to take the motorcycle into the building with her.