Walter, and wife, Katherine, who had done the Ireland jaunt with him last year.
Dear Timothy,
Since Ireland is now old stomping grounds, why don’t you and Cynthia plan to go with us next summer? Thought we’d plant the seed, so it can sprout over the winter.
We shall never forget how handsome you looked on the other side of the pulpit, standing with your beautiful bride. We love her as much as we love you, which is pecks and bushels, as ever, Karherine
PS, Pls advise if canna and lily bulbs should be separated in the fall, I’m trying to find a hobby that has nothing to do with a pasta machine Yrs, Walter
He rummaged toward the bottom of the mail stack.
Aha!
A note from Dooley Barlowe, in that fancy prep school for which his eldest parishioner, Miss Sadie Baxter, was shelling out serious bucks.
Hey. I don’t like it here. That brain in a jar that we saw is from a medical school. I still don’t know whose brain it is. When are you coming back? Bring Barnbus and granpaw and Cynthia. I culd probly use a twenty. Dooley
There! Not one ‘ain’t,’ and complete sentences throughout. Hallelujah!
Who could have imagined that this boy, once barely able to speak the King’s English, would end up in a prestigious school in Virginia?
He gazed at the note, shaking his head.
Scarcely more than two years ago, Dooley Barlowe had arrived at the church office, dirty, ragged, and barefoot, looking for a place to “take a dump.” His grandfather had been too ill to care for the boy, who was abandoned by a runaway father and alcoholic mother, and Dooley had ended up at the rectory. By grace alone, he and Dooley had managed to live through those perilous times.
“I’ve been wondering,” said Emma, peering at him over her glasses. “Is Cynthia goin‘ to pitch in and help around the church?”
“She’s free to do as much or as little as she pleases.”
“I’ve always thought a preacher’s wife should pitch in.” She set her mouth in that way he deplored. “If you ask me, which you didn’t, the parish will expect it.”
Yes, indeed, if he could get the Baptists to take Emma Newland off his hands, he would be a happy man.
“Miss Sadie,” he said when she answered the phone at Fernbank, “I’ve had a note from Dooley. He says he doesn’t like it in that fancy school.”
“He can like it or lump it,” she said pleasantly.
“When you’re dishing out twenty thousand a year, you sure can be tough, Miss Sadie.”
“If I couldn’t be tough, Father, I wouldn’t have twenty thousand to dish out.”
“You’ll be glad to know the headmaster says he’s doing all right. A little slow on the uptake, but holding his own with those rich kids. In fact, they’re not all rich. Several are there on scholarship, with no more assets than our Dooley.”
“Good! You mark my words, he’ll be better for it. And don’t you. go soft on me, Father, and let him talk you into bailing him out in the middle of the night.”
“You can count on it,” he said.
“Louella and I have nearly recovered from all the doings in June....”
“June was a whopper, all right.”
“We’re no spring chickens, you know.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“I’ll be ninety my next birthday, but Louella doesn’t tell her age. Anyway, we’re going to have you and Cynthia up for supper. What did we say we’d have, Louella?”
He heard Louella’s mezzo voice boom from a corner of the big kitchen, “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, an‘ cole slaw!”
“Man!” he exclaimed, quoting Dooley.
The announcement rolled on. “Hot biscuits, cooked apples, deviled eggs, bread and butter pickles ...”
Good Lord! The flare-up from his diabetes would have him in the emergency room before the rest of them pushed back from the table.
“And what did we say for dessert?” Miss Sadie warbled into the distance.
“Homemade coconut cake!”
Ah, well, that was a full coma right there. Hardly any of his parishioners could
Dear Timothy,
Since Ireland is now old stomping grounds, why don’t you and Cynthia plan to go with us next summer? Thought we’d plant the seed, so it can sprout over the winter.
We shall never forget how handsome you looked on the other side of the pulpit, standing with your beautiful bride. We love her as much as we love you, which is pecks and bushels, as ever, Karherine
PS, Pls advise if canna and lily bulbs should be separated in the fall, I’m trying to find a hobby that has nothing to do with a pasta machine Yrs, Walter
He rummaged toward the bottom of the mail stack.
Aha!
A note from Dooley Barlowe, in that fancy prep school for which his eldest parishioner, Miss Sadie Baxter, was shelling out serious bucks.
Hey. I don’t like it here. That brain in a jar that we saw is from a medical school. I still don’t know whose brain it is. When are you coming back? Bring Barnbus and granpaw and Cynthia. I culd probly use a twenty. Dooley
There! Not one ‘ain’t,’ and complete sentences throughout. Hallelujah!
Who could have imagined that this boy, once barely able to speak the King’s English, would end up in a prestigious school in Virginia?
He gazed at the note, shaking his head.
Scarcely more than two years ago, Dooley Barlowe had arrived at the church office, dirty, ragged, and barefoot, looking for a place to “take a dump.” His grandfather had been too ill to care for the boy, who was abandoned by a runaway father and alcoholic mother, and Dooley had ended up at the rectory. By grace alone, he and Dooley had managed to live through those perilous times.
“I’ve been wondering,” said Emma, peering at him over her glasses. “Is Cynthia goin‘ to pitch in and help around the church?”
“She’s free to do as much or as little as she pleases.”
“I’ve always thought a preacher’s wife should pitch in.” She set her mouth in that way he deplored. “If you ask me, which you didn’t, the parish will expect it.”
Yes, indeed, if he could get the Baptists to take Emma Newland off his hands, he would be a happy man.
“Miss Sadie,” he said when she answered the phone at Fernbank, “I’ve had a note from Dooley. He says he doesn’t like it in that fancy school.”
“He can like it or lump it,” she said pleasantly.
“When you’re dishing out twenty thousand a year, you sure can be tough, Miss Sadie.”
“If I couldn’t be tough, Father, I wouldn’t have twenty thousand to dish out.”
“You’ll be glad to know the headmaster says he’s doing all right. A little slow on the uptake, but holding his own with those rich kids. In fact, they’re not all rich. Several are there on scholarship, with no more assets than our Dooley.”
“Good! You mark my words, he’ll be better for it. And don’t you. go soft on me, Father, and let him talk you into bailing him out in the middle of the night.”
“You can count on it,” he said.
“Louella and I have nearly recovered from all the doings in June....”
“June was a whopper, all right.”
“We’re no spring chickens, you know.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“I’ll be ninety my next birthday, but Louella doesn’t tell her age. Anyway, we’re going to have you and Cynthia up for supper. What did we say we’d have, Louella?”
He heard Louella’s mezzo voice boom from a corner of the big kitchen, “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, an‘ cole slaw!”
“Man!” he exclaimed, quoting Dooley.
The announcement rolled on. “Hot biscuits, cooked apples, deviled eggs, bread and butter pickles ...”
Good Lord! The flare-up from his diabetes would have him in the emergency room before the rest of them pushed back from the table.
“And what did we say for dessert?” Miss Sadie warbled into the distance.
“Homemade coconut cake!”
Ah, well, that was a full coma right there. Hardly any of his parishioners could