Read Online A Place We Knew Well by Susan Carol McCarthy - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Carol McCarthy
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food booths. If I can break away for a few minutes, we could have lunch together.”
“All right, darlin’.” Seeing the relief in her eyes, he realized he’d just agreed to both lunch and to speaking with Charlotte about Emilio. Hi-yo, Silver, he thought.
—
W ITH H URRICANE E LLA OFFICIALLY headed elsewhere, members of the congregation hailed Avery, on meet-and-greet duty inside the church vestibule, with thanks for the heaven-sent relief.
Handing out the day’s bulletin, helping the old ladies to their seats, Avery kept an eye on Charlotte in the section off the right aisle favored by church young people. Her dark head bobbed as she whispered and grinned at the girls beside her. He’d let her sleep in, so they’d had to rush to get here on time.
At head deacon Ted Buck’s signal, he closed the sanctuary’s rear doors and took his seat in the back with the other deacons scheduled to pass the collection plates.
To Avery’s ear, the choir’s Call to Worship sounded thin without Sarah’s rich contralto. Pastor Billy Wigginthal, in a new suit and recent haircut, steered the service along predictable lines, except for one thing: During the collection, a far-off rumble drew in close overhead and drowned out the bulk of the offertory hymn. A number among the congregation—veterans mostly—gazed upward at the sound. Thunderchiefs, Avery thought. The original squadrons from Friday? Or a new wave of arrivals now that the weather’s cleared?
Avery tapped impatient fingers on the end of the pew, eager to head over to the base and see for himself.
At the end of the service, Pastor Billy extended the invitation—while the choir sang softly “Just as I Am, Without One Plea”—but nobody responded. Privately, Avery suspected the minister had set his sights on a bigger congregation: the big, new brick First Baptist downtown, maybe? The guy seemed skittish and rangy, like a horse in changing weather. Or a man looking to make a move.
Afterward, Avery waited at the base of the church steps till Charlotte joined him, calling to her friends, “Later, ’gators!”
Mabel Jenkins, a thin, hawk-eyed widow, turned and put a blue-veined claw beneath Charlotte’s chin. “What a beauty you’ve become!” she exclaimed. “Just look at that face, that
figure
!” Her gaze switched bird-like between Charlotte and Avery. “Where on earth did those curves come from?”
Charlotte blanched and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest. Over the summer a number of the coarser boys had taken to calling her “stacked.” And now this old biddy was doing the same thing—on the church steps, no less!
Avery felt her embarrassment as well as the not-so-subtle swipe at Sarah. “My side of the family, I guess,” he lied. “Good day, Mabel,” he added curtly and, with a firm hand on the small of Charlotte’s back, steered her away from the old bat to the truck.
—
T HE PARKING LOT OF J. M. Fields looked like the circus was in town.
There was a series of brightly striped tents, flags flying, young men in orange vests directing cars where to park. But instead of WELCOME TO RINGLING BROS. AND BARNUM & BAILEY’S GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH , the entrance banner boasted CENTRAL FLORIDA’S FIRST EVER SHOWCASE OF FAMILY FALLOUT SHELTERS sponsored by the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization.
Instead of Gargantua, Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy, and the little house that caught fire, there were full-sized displays of walk-through fallout shelters: from the prefab Peace O’ Mind steel-and-concrete vault (
with patented fluted design to resist shock waves
) to a fire-resistant California redwood Safety Shed (
A shelter for the family and workshop for Dad in one!
) to the small, dark Bee Safe Quonset hut (
with fireproof exterior surface of Gunite!
). Most of them were no bigger than one of his station’s bathrooms. Avery peered in but refused to enter. Truth be told, he hated dark, enclosed spaces and avoided them whenever he
“All right, darlin’.” Seeing the relief in her eyes, he realized he’d just agreed to both lunch and to speaking with Charlotte about Emilio. Hi-yo, Silver, he thought.
—
W ITH H URRICANE E LLA OFFICIALLY headed elsewhere, members of the congregation hailed Avery, on meet-and-greet duty inside the church vestibule, with thanks for the heaven-sent relief.
Handing out the day’s bulletin, helping the old ladies to their seats, Avery kept an eye on Charlotte in the section off the right aisle favored by church young people. Her dark head bobbed as she whispered and grinned at the girls beside her. He’d let her sleep in, so they’d had to rush to get here on time.
At head deacon Ted Buck’s signal, he closed the sanctuary’s rear doors and took his seat in the back with the other deacons scheduled to pass the collection plates.
To Avery’s ear, the choir’s Call to Worship sounded thin without Sarah’s rich contralto. Pastor Billy Wigginthal, in a new suit and recent haircut, steered the service along predictable lines, except for one thing: During the collection, a far-off rumble drew in close overhead and drowned out the bulk of the offertory hymn. A number among the congregation—veterans mostly—gazed upward at the sound. Thunderchiefs, Avery thought. The original squadrons from Friday? Or a new wave of arrivals now that the weather’s cleared?
Avery tapped impatient fingers on the end of the pew, eager to head over to the base and see for himself.
At the end of the service, Pastor Billy extended the invitation—while the choir sang softly “Just as I Am, Without One Plea”—but nobody responded. Privately, Avery suspected the minister had set his sights on a bigger congregation: the big, new brick First Baptist downtown, maybe? The guy seemed skittish and rangy, like a horse in changing weather. Or a man looking to make a move.
Afterward, Avery waited at the base of the church steps till Charlotte joined him, calling to her friends, “Later, ’gators!”
Mabel Jenkins, a thin, hawk-eyed widow, turned and put a blue-veined claw beneath Charlotte’s chin. “What a beauty you’ve become!” she exclaimed. “Just look at that face, that
figure
!” Her gaze switched bird-like between Charlotte and Avery. “Where on earth did those curves come from?”
Charlotte blanched and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest. Over the summer a number of the coarser boys had taken to calling her “stacked.” And now this old biddy was doing the same thing—on the church steps, no less!
Avery felt her embarrassment as well as the not-so-subtle swipe at Sarah. “My side of the family, I guess,” he lied. “Good day, Mabel,” he added curtly and, with a firm hand on the small of Charlotte’s back, steered her away from the old bat to the truck.
—
T HE PARKING LOT OF J. M. Fields looked like the circus was in town.
There was a series of brightly striped tents, flags flying, young men in orange vests directing cars where to park. But instead of WELCOME TO RINGLING BROS. AND BARNUM & BAILEY’S GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH , the entrance banner boasted CENTRAL FLORIDA’S FIRST EVER SHOWCASE OF FAMILY FALLOUT SHELTERS sponsored by the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization.
Instead of Gargantua, Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy, and the little house that caught fire, there were full-sized displays of walk-through fallout shelters: from the prefab Peace O’ Mind steel-and-concrete vault (
with patented fluted design to resist shock waves
) to a fire-resistant California redwood Safety Shed (
A shelter for the family and workshop for Dad in one!
) to the small, dark Bee Safe Quonset hut (
with fireproof exterior surface of Gunite!
). Most of them were no bigger than one of his station’s bathrooms. Avery peered in but refused to enter. Truth be told, he hated dark, enclosed spaces and avoided them whenever he
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