One More Sunday - One More Sunday Part 58
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One More Sunday Part 58

Finn, you're right. If it isn't first class it isn't going to kill the patients. John Tinker worries me lately. He seems to be withdrawing somehow. There's no lift. No sparkle. He's not enjoying life. The sermons are mechanically good, well rehearsed, full of camera cues. I think Mary Margaret is gaining a couple or three pounds a week ever since Matthew got so much worse. Who have we got left around here ? Walter Macy ?

He could do well running a little bit of a church in a rich parish, and play politics with the deacon list. He's not up to operating anything this big...

"Joe Deets can't keep his hands off the pretty little girls. So he's going to get into very big trouble. Finn, you can talk all you want to about taking some time off, having a nice rest, but you are leaving what begins to me to look more and more like a sinking ship. Ever since Matthew's trouble started, the longterm membership trend has been turning down. Very slowly, but definitely down. An institution like this needs constant attention from somebody who knows the whole picture and knows what he's doing."

After several moments of silence, Finn shook his head and said, "No. No, thanks. For several years now old friends all over the country have been saying, "What in hell is Finn doing down there with that bunch of weirdos?" I haven't been paying conscious attention. I've told myself I don't care. But I guess I do. This may be a rude question, Charley, but how do you rationalize it?"

"I don't have to rationalize a thing, friend. To me and Clyde, the ECB is a nice piece of business. Without us it would have gotten into a lot more trouble than it has, and paid a lot more taxes. We're advocates. And everybody at one time or another needs one. For my own personal private opinion, I can tell you this much. I can't see a whole lot of harm in bringing folks into church to hear the old-time religion. Lifts the hearts. Refreshes the spirits. Makes them feel like they're part of something real special. This place is like a shrine now. They come from all over the country to listen to the biggest loudest electronic chimes in the known world."

"And if you weren't taking care of their legal problems, somebody else would be?"

"Let's not get philosophical-tricky, Finn boy. What's your departure schedule?"

"By tomorrow noon, I'll be long gone, provided you can disentangle me from some of the things I've had to sign. When I get an address, I'll let you know."

"Got any destination?"

"Vermont, I guess. Haven't seen it since I was a little kid in camp."

"Well, let's check the paperwork. And then we'll have a drink."

The Hemstead Brothers Funeral Home sent one of its hearses down to the city Sunday evening and brought Molly Wintergarten's body back to Lakemore for processing. The sister-inlaw of the deceased brought in a dark blue Halston dress that same evening, and some of Molly's cosmetics from her dressing table.

The sister-in-law's name was Alice Berns, a tall, pale, grayhaired woman in octagonal eyeglasses without rims. She told 2-73 Buddy Hemstead that she had the authority to select the casket, and she picked a steel box with a bronze metallic finish, white satin interior, and an outer container of waterproofed concrete. She said that Mrs. Wintergarten's mother and sister had been informed, and they would be coming down for the service, scheduled for noon on Wednesday in the small chapel on the grounds of the Meadows Cemetery. She said that the Meadows Center would be providing the music, the service and the actual work at the grave site. Buddy Hemstead said he was familiar with the system as he had taken care of other people from the Church who were buried there, including young Paul Meadows, who had died at an early age.

He took her into the office and explained that he and his best employee had inspected the body and it was their judgment that they would be able to make the side of the face presentable, so that there could be a viewing, if so desired.

"Have to keep her head turned just a mite left," he said.

Mrs. Berns said she did not believe that her brother contemplated any sort of viewing, but to go ahead and make her look as good as possible in case he changed his mind. He worked out the bill, which included picking the body up at the city hospital and then taking it out to the chapel. He said his people would coordinate with the cemetery people and have the outer watertight box in place to receive the casket, and they would supply the lowering device. The bill came to thirty-eight hundred and seventy-five dollars, or four thousand and thirty with tax. She said she would make certain it was paid promptly. He said he appreciated the business, and please express his condolences to the bereaved. He asked if John Tinker Meadows himself would be officiating, and she said the family had decided that Mary Margaret Meadows would perform the service. He said she was a lovely woman, and Mrs. Berns said she was sure she was, but she had yet to meet her.

Roy Owen received word from Lieutenant Coombs late on Monday afternoon that Linda Owen's body could be released to any designated and licensed mortuary at any time. He had made arrangements with a firm down in the city named Stith and Sons. He phoned them from his room at the County Line Motel and they said they would pick the body up at nine in the morning and take it directly to their crematorium ten miles south of the city, on Route 887,3 white building on the left, set back, just beyond the Pepsi Bottling Works, you can't miss it.

And it would be performed at ten o'clock. He then phoned the hospital and told them who would be coming for the body.

They told him there were some charges and they could not release the body until they were paid. Six hundred and eighty one dollars and forty-one cents.

He located Lieutenant Coombs through the Sheriff's office and told him that he had no intention of being cheap, but he had not requested any hospital services, certainly not over six hundred dollars' worth. Coombs cursed the hospital, the state, the federal government and every paper shuffler in the known universe. He called Roy back twenty minutes later and said the matter had been settled and there were no charges to him, that the charges were an obligation of the state and the county, and the hospital was prepared to release the remains to Stith's people.

Peggy Moon tapped on his door, and when he opened it she came in barefoot, wearing cutoffs and an old yellow T-shirt with "Pac Man' printed on the front of it. She took hold of his wrists and looked directly at him, frowning with concern.

"I was listening," she said.

He tried to smile.

"Isn't there some law?"

"I'll go down there with you, okay?"

"No. It's all right. I'll manage, Peg."

"You can't go alone! Really. You can't. I won't permit it."

"What did you say?"

She swallowed, flushed and said again, thrusting her chin upward, "I won't permit it."

He smiled at her.

"In that case, what choice do I have?"

"Absolutely none. I'll expect you for breakfast at eight and we'll be out of here by eight-thirty, to be on the safe side. No, come at quarter to eight and we'll leave at eight-fifteen."

"Look, it means a lot," he said, and turned away from her as his eyes began to sting.

"Nobody should ever be alone. Not ever," she said.

Seventeen.

When he came pedaling up the hill just at sunrise on Wednesday morning, Doreen was waiting for him under their tree, smiling at him, teeth so bright in the lovely tanned face, her right hand resting on the handlebar of the new bike he had bought her, silver and blue, ultra-lightweight, but with the broader cross-country tires and fifteen-speed derailleur. She was glistening with sun oil and bug repellent, and she had their breakfast picnic strapped to the luggage carrier.

"Hey, Joe!" she called.

"It's really great. It's really a wonderful machine. It must have cost an awful lot."

"You're not supposed to ask how much presents cost, Doric."

She reached out and patted his cheek as he came close enough.

"So you're going to teach me manners too? I've been like two miles up the road already and back, just trying it out. I thought at first maybe it was too big, but it's just the right size frame, really."

She swung aboard and as soon as she had a little bit of speed she bent over and pulled each toe strap tight. She grinned back at him and yelled, "Catch me if you can, dads!"

After a mile he nearly did catch her, but she looked back in surprise and increased the pace. He looked at those muscular and elegant little haunches ahead of him, working away under the tight fit of her white short shorts. There was bare brown skin between the shorts and the yellow halter. Wind whipped at her hair. It was pale spun gold in the sunlight, touched faintly with the red overtones of the rising sun.

He began to be increasingly uncomfortable, sweating too heavily and enduring the pain in his side. He was panting for air, and he could feel the beginning of a cramp in his left calf.

Damn the girl, he thought. Damn her. Fifteen speeds forward gave her too much of an edge. He wished he'd bought her one with no gears at all.

Sweat was running into his eyes as they passed the old Addy place that had been deeded to the Church when the Addys moved into the Settlements and sold off their pigs and chickens. He had hoped she had decided to turn in there where they had picnicked on other mornings. But she went sailing by, and she was singing something. Fragments of the song came back to him on the morning air. It didn't seem to have any words at least not any he could understand. She turned off on the path which followed the fence line a mile beyond the Addy place, and then left the fence line and curved downhill to the shore of the creek.

She stayed aboard, but he could not risk his thin tires on all the roots and stones of the path, and so he swung down and walked the bike down. She was long out of sight. He stopped for a couple of minutes to catch his breath and massage the cramp in his calf. His blue cotton shirt was sweat-pasted to his chest in spite of the transient and deceptive coolness of early morning.

When he arrived at the bank of the stream he found she had spread the light blanket in a different place than before. He soon saw why. The creek, when it flooded, had spread a layer of mud and debris up over the bank and the slope of tufted grass where they had lain before. It was drying and cracking, and smelled faintly of vegetable decay. So she had settled them further up, under a stand of longleaf pines, on the carpet of brown needles between two long roots that stretched down toward the creek.

"Okay here?" she asked.