Eden Hill Read Free Page B

Virgil would never do anything like that. Mavine knew her husband. He’d never had a secret, and wouldn’t be able to keep one anyway.
    She dried the last item, her blue Fiesta biscuit plate, and glanced again at the clock. The hands on the dial had moved much more than she had expected, and the sun was now pouring in the window over the sink. Monday was laundry day, and Vee’s blue jeans and Virgil’s work khakis were piled in the basket on the back porch. Clothes needed to be cleaned, and housework couldn’t wait any longer.
    She started the water to fill the tub on the Maytag and picked up a pair of tan pants from the pile. As Virgil could be absentminded, she felt all the pockets for ballpoint pens and loose change. The texture was warm and familiar, gentle and well-worn. Yes, she could trust the man she’d married.
    But Virgil did seem caught off his guard, defensive and irritated. Like a fox caught in the chicken coop.

    Reverend Eugene Caudill sat on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his pajamas and slippers. He’d slept in until almost seven and was getting a late start. Last night’s sermon onrepentance had taken almost an hour, and followed the half-hour Sunday night hymn time that his song leader, Toler, had managed to drag out to forty-five minutes. After covering up the baptistery and turning down the furnace, he’d made it to bed sometime after eleven. Much later than he liked.
    The framed photo next to the alarm clock drew his gaze, as it did every morning. Their framed wedding picture, hand-colored like they did in those days. Louise had been so beautiful in her long gown, and he looked confident and hopeful in his dark suit. His hair had been the coal black of his Scottish ancestors then, and her smile showed no hint of the weakened artery that would suddenly burst just four years later. The church had been very supportive, of course, and had helped him through the loss, though he’d nearly given up his pastorate to pursue something else. So his recent sermon series on marriage had been somewhat uninformed; even he recognized that. How should he know enough to preach on marriage when he had been widowed for twelve years? He still missed her dearly, and some days he wished he had resigned.
    But he was a pastor, called to preach and to shepherd this flock. With effort, he struggled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen to start breakfast. The teakettle had just begun its low whistle when the phone rang. He turned off the gas flame as the telephone jangled a second time. The caller could wait.
    He took a cup and saucer from the cupboard, arranged them on the counter, and answered the phone on the fifth ring. “Good morning, Madeline.” The day wouldbe a total waste unless Mrs. Madeline Crutcher called to raise Cain about something, and she rarely disappointed. Behind schedule, too; his phone usually rang at six in the morning.
    The old woman was already in midsentence: “. . . selling the church’s property! Where is the vision? Why was I not consulted?” The elderly widow was red in the face, something he could tell even over the telephone.
    “And,” she continued after a deep breath, “where will I park my Buick?”
    He poured the boiling water into the cup with his free hand. “Madeline, the church didn’t, doesn’t, and won’t need the vacant lot. What it does need is a new roof, and offerings are down. My vision’s fine, thank you very much. You weren’t consulted because you didn’t need to be. You’ll probably park your car in my space at the church like you do now. And furthermore, Madeline, how well are you keeping up on your stewardship pledge for this year?”
    Mrs. Crutcher said something about her elite heritage and then questioned his own and hung up. Reverend Caudill shook his head and reached into the cabinet for a tin of Tetley and a Goody’s headache powder. The week was not off to a good start.
    He swirled his tea bag in the steaming water and then added