“I love you,” he said simply.
She looked up at him, the tears shining in her eyes. “We’re going to make the best of this thing.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “Now, let’s move on to what started all this in the first place. You are going to help me take these hats to Olivia Davenport, aren’t you, Father?”
“Absolutely.”
“Just think of the joy we’ll have when we see her wearing them! You do think she’ll wear them, don’t you?”
“I haven’t the slightest doubt.”
“Can we take them this week?”
“I’ll have to see about renting a U-Haul,” he said, grinning.
“Pshaw! We can get them all in my Plymouth. I have a trunk as big as a bathtub, and you’ll do the driving.”
“Deal!”
“I’m so glad to have a priest who minds me,” she said.
He turned left out of the Fernbank driveway and walked toward the construction site. Church Hill literally vibrated under his feet with the churn and tumult of heavy equipment, which at last had fair weather for operating.
It was a wonder to him that the street wasn’t thronged with onlookers, field trips from schools, and chartered buses from every point in the county. For there, under a perfectly blue and cloudless sky, lay an open wound in the earth, with more spectacular vehicles crawling upon it than one could count.
He felt light as air. And no wonder—it was the first time in his life that he’d worn tennis shoes with his tab collar, though that was all the rage with Father Roland and his crowd in New Orleans. He’d been accustomed to running a few years behind the rest of the world, but he was going to make an effort to change that. He was tired of bringing up the rear in the march of civilization.
The equipment crawled over the site like ants on a hill, except for two thundering yellow Cats, stationed at either end of a vast excavation. His attention was instantly riveted by their great maws that dipped into the earth and came up again, overfed with red clay. The arms of the machines swung around and dumped their loads onto a pile.
A man pulled onto the site in a truck, got out, and threw up his hand. It was Ron Malcolm’s boy, who had driven from Colorado to work on this job. Though Ed Malcolm was walking hurriedly toward the trailer, the rector caught up with him.
“Ed, how’s it going?” They shook hands.
“Great, Father, just great. We’re glad to have the good weather.”
“And we’re glad to have you on this job.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Ed glanced anxiously at the trailer and then sprinted away. “See you around,” he called over his shoulder.
He’d take a look in the hole before he walked to the Grill for lunch. Recalling the plans, he knew the basement would house the kitchen, a composting drum, storage, a ten-bed infirmary, and a small pharmacy.
If he’d worn a hat, he would have removed it respectfully at the rim of the crater. The vast excavation appeared to penetrate Beijing, dug in clay that ranged in layers of color from blood red to purple to black to ochre. Were those layers like the rings of a tree, telling the age of this ancient hill?
“You sonofa ...” was all he heard as the arm of the machine thundered up from the hole, and he was jerked backward by his left shoulder.
He stumbled, but before he could fall, he was spun around and Buck Leeper grabbed him by his lapel. His face was so close that he could feel the man’s spittle when he shouted.
“Do that again, Mister, and you’ll eat my dirt. Got it? I got enough trouble without some fool lookin’ to fall in my excavation. Now, leave my men alone and stay off my site.”
Leeper cursed and shoved him roughly away, then stalked toward the trailer.
The rector had felt the man’s raw power, as if he were part of the heavy equipment, some extension of it in human form. He stood rooted to the spot, shaken.
“You look like you seen a ghost,” said Percy.
“I wish,” he muttered. It
She looked up at him, the tears shining in her eyes. “We’re going to make the best of this thing.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “Now, let’s move on to what started all this in the first place. You are going to help me take these hats to Olivia Davenport, aren’t you, Father?”
“Absolutely.”
“Just think of the joy we’ll have when we see her wearing them! You do think she’ll wear them, don’t you?”
“I haven’t the slightest doubt.”
“Can we take them this week?”
“I’ll have to see about renting a U-Haul,” he said, grinning.
“Pshaw! We can get them all in my Plymouth. I have a trunk as big as a bathtub, and you’ll do the driving.”
“Deal!”
“I’m so glad to have a priest who minds me,” she said.
He turned left out of the Fernbank driveway and walked toward the construction site. Church Hill literally vibrated under his feet with the churn and tumult of heavy equipment, which at last had fair weather for operating.
It was a wonder to him that the street wasn’t thronged with onlookers, field trips from schools, and chartered buses from every point in the county. For there, under a perfectly blue and cloudless sky, lay an open wound in the earth, with more spectacular vehicles crawling upon it than one could count.
He felt light as air. And no wonder—it was the first time in his life that he’d worn tennis shoes with his tab collar, though that was all the rage with Father Roland and his crowd in New Orleans. He’d been accustomed to running a few years behind the rest of the world, but he was going to make an effort to change that. He was tired of bringing up the rear in the march of civilization.
The equipment crawled over the site like ants on a hill, except for two thundering yellow Cats, stationed at either end of a vast excavation. His attention was instantly riveted by their great maws that dipped into the earth and came up again, overfed with red clay. The arms of the machines swung around and dumped their loads onto a pile.
A man pulled onto the site in a truck, got out, and threw up his hand. It was Ron Malcolm’s boy, who had driven from Colorado to work on this job. Though Ed Malcolm was walking hurriedly toward the trailer, the rector caught up with him.
“Ed, how’s it going?” They shook hands.
“Great, Father, just great. We’re glad to have the good weather.”
“And we’re glad to have you on this job.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Ed glanced anxiously at the trailer and then sprinted away. “See you around,” he called over his shoulder.
He’d take a look in the hole before he walked to the Grill for lunch. Recalling the plans, he knew the basement would house the kitchen, a composting drum, storage, a ten-bed infirmary, and a small pharmacy.
If he’d worn a hat, he would have removed it respectfully at the rim of the crater. The vast excavation appeared to penetrate Beijing, dug in clay that ranged in layers of color from blood red to purple to black to ochre. Were those layers like the rings of a tree, telling the age of this ancient hill?
“You sonofa ...” was all he heard as the arm of the machine thundered up from the hole, and he was jerked backward by his left shoulder.
He stumbled, but before he could fall, he was spun around and Buck Leeper grabbed him by his lapel. His face was so close that he could feel the man’s spittle when he shouted.
“Do that again, Mister, and you’ll eat my dirt. Got it? I got enough trouble without some fool lookin’ to fall in my excavation. Now, leave my men alone and stay off my site.”
Leeper cursed and shoved him roughly away, then stalked toward the trailer.
The rector had felt the man’s raw power, as if he were part of the heavy equipment, some extension of it in human form. He stood rooted to the spot, shaken.
“You look like you seen a ghost,” said Percy.
“I wish,” he muttered. It
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